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ELEMENTS 


OF 


MENTAL PHILOSOPHY, 


ABRIDGED AND DESIGNED AS A 


TEXT-BOOK 


FOR 


ACADEMIES AND HIGH SCHOOLS. 





V 




QJ 


BY THOMAS C.'^JPHAM, 

w 

PROFESSOR OF MENTAL AND MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN BOWDOIN 

COLLEGE. . 


N E W-Y 0 R K: 

HARPER & BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF-STREET. 


1 84 0 . 

„ L • 




1 r‘ > / 3 0 

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1840, by 
Thomas C. Upham, 

in the Clerk’s office of the District Court of Maine. 



PREFACE. 


The Philosophy of the Mind has grown up, like other 
sciences, from small beginnings. Many propositions, 
coming too, in many instances, from able writers, have 
been ttfrpwn aside; truth has been sifted out from the 
nr&Ss of error, until at last a great number of important 
principles is ascertained. But while it is exceedingly 
necessary that our youth should be made acquainted 
with these principles, it is impossible that they should go 
through with all the complicated discussions which have 
been held in respect to them. Many of the books in 
which these discussions are contained have become ex¬ 
ceedingly rare ; and, if they were not so, no small num¬ 
ber of students, who are now in the course of as thorough 
an education as our country affords, would not be able to 
purchase them. And besides, by placing before the stu¬ 
dent a mass of crude and conflicting statements, his mind 
becomes perplexed. To be able to resolve such a mass 
into its elements, and to separate truth from error, implies 
an acquaintance with the laws of the intellect, and a de¬ 
gree of mental discipline, which he is not yet supposed to 
have acquired; and hence, instead of obtaining much im¬ 
portant knowledge, he becomes distrustful of everything. 

Now these evils, saying nothing of the loss of time at¬ 
tendant on such a course, are to be remedied in the same 
way as in other sciences. In other departments of learn¬ 
ing, ingenious men discuss points of difficulty; conflicting 
arguments are accumulated, until the preponderance on 
one side is such that the question in debate is considered 




iv 


PREFACE. 


settled. Others employ themselves in collecting facts, in 
classifying them, and in deducing general principles; and 
when all this is done, the important truths of the science, 
collected from such a variety of sources, and suitably ar¬ 
ranged and expressed, are laid before the student, in or¬ 
der that he may become acquainted with them. And this 
is what is attempted, to some extent, to be done in the 
present work, which is an abridgment of a larger work 
on the same subject. In the larger work, the principles of 
Eclecticism and Induction, which have just been referred 
to, are applied on a more extensive scale than in the 
present. I have been obliged necessarily to exclude 
from the abridgment many interesting and striking illus- 1 
trations and facts, and some general philosophical views, 
which would have had a place if our limits had permit¬ 
ted. I indulge the hope, nevertheless, as the abridgment 
has been made with no small degree of care, that it will 
answer the purpose for which it is particularly designed 
viz., the assistance of those youth who need some knowl-. 
edge of Mental Philosophy, but are not in a situation to 
prosecute the subject to any great extent. 

THOMAS C. UPHAM. 


Bouidoin College, May, 1840. 




CONTENTS. 


DIVISION I. 

THE INTELLECT OR UNDERSTANDING. 
INTELLECTIVE OR INTELLECTUAL STATES OF THE MIND. 

PART I. 

INTELLECTUAL STATES OF EXTERNAL ORIGIN. 
CHAPTER I. 


ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE IN GENERAL, 
ction Page 

1. The mind susceptible of a threefold division . . . .17 

2. The Intellect susceptible of a subordinate division . . . ib. 

3. Of the connexion of the mind with the material world . . 18 


4. Our first knowledge in general of a material or external origin . 19 

5. Shown further from what we notice in children . . . .20 

6. Further proof of the beginnings of knowledge from external causes 21 

7. The same subject further illustrated.22 

8. Illustration from the case of James Mitchell . . . .23 

CHAPTER II. 


SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 

9. Sensation a simple mental state originating in the senses . . 24 

10. All sensation is properly and truly in the mind . ... 25 

11 . Sensations are not images or resemblances of objects . • . ib. 

12. The connexion between the mental and physical change not ca¬ 

pable of explanation.26 

1.3. Of the meaning and nature of perception.27 

14. Perception makes us acquainted with a material world . . 27 

15. Of the primary and secondary qualities of matter . . .28 

16. Of the secondary qualities of matter.29 


CHAPTER III. 

THE SENSES OF SMELL AND TASTE. 

17. Nature and importance of the senses as a source of knowledge . 30 


18. Connexion of the brain with sensation and perception . . 31 

19. Order in which the senses are to be considered . . . .32 

20. Of the sense and sensations of smell.ib. 

21. Of perceptions of smell in distinction from sensations . . . 33 

22. Of the sense and the sensations of taste.34 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE SENSE OF HEARING. 

23. Organ of the sense of hearing.35 

24. Varieties of the sensation of sound.36 

25. Manner in which we learn the place of sounds . . . .37 

A 2 










VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER V. 


Section 


THE SENSE OF TOUCH. 


26. Of the sense of toucfejp general and its sensations 

27. Idea of externality suggested in connexion with the touch 

28. Origin of the notion of extension, and of form or figure 

29. On the sensations of heat and cold .... 

30. Of the sensations of hardness and softness . 

31. Of certain indefinite feelings sometimes ascribed to the touch 

32. Relation between the sensation and what is outwardly signified 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE SENSE OF SIGHT. 


33. Of the organ of sight, and the uses or benefits of that sense 

34. Statement of the mode or process in visual perception 

35. Of the original and acquired perceptions of sight 

36. The idea of extension not originally from sight 

37. Of the knowledge of thefigure of bodies by the sight 

38. Illustration of the subject from the blind 

39. Measurements of magnitude by the eye 

40. Of objects seen in a mist. 

41. Of the sun and moon when seen in the horizon . 

42. Of the estimation of distances by sight 

43. Signs by means of which we estimate distance by sight 

44. Estimation of distance when unaided by intermediate objects 

45. Of objects seen on the ocean, &c.. 


CHAPTER VII. 


HABITS OF SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 


Pag 1 

ib;j 
4( ] 
41 
45 

44 

45 


46 

47 

48 

49 
50! 

51 

52 

53 
ib. 

54 

55 

56 

57 


46. General view of the law of habit and of its applications 

47. The law of habit applicable to the mind as well as the body 

48. Of habit in relation to the smell. 

49. Of habit in relation to the taste. 

50. Of habit in relation to the hearing ...... 

51. Application of habit to the touch. 

52. Other striking instances of habits of touch. 

53. Habits considered in relation to the sight. 

54. Sensations may possess a relative, as well as positive increase of 

power. 

55. Of habits as modified by particular callings and arts . 

56. The law of habit considered in reference to the perception of the* 

outlines and forms of objects. 

57. Notice of some facts which favour the above doctrine . . ! 

58. Additional illustrations of Mr. Stewart’s doctrine 


58 
ib. 

59 

60 
62 

64 

65 

66 


68 

69 


70 

71 

72 


CHAPTER VIII. 

CONCEPTIONS. 


59. Meaning and characteristics of conceptions ..... 73 

60. Of conceptions of objects of sight.! 74 

61. Of the influence of habit on our conceptions . . . ! 76 

62. Influence of habit on conceptions of sight. 77 

63. Of the subserviency of our conceptions to description . . . ib. 

64. Of conceptions attended with a momentary belief . . ,78 

65. Conceptions which are joined with perceptions . . . .81 

66. Conceptions as connected with fictitious representations . . 82 









CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER IX. 

SIMPLICITY AND COMPLEXNESS OF MENTAL STATES. 

Section 

67. Origin of the distinction of simple and complex .... 

68. Nature and characteristics of simple mental states 

69. Simple mental states not susceptible of definition 

70. Simple mental states representative of a reality .... 

71. Origin of complex notions, and their relation to simple 

72. Supposed complexness without the antecedence of simple feelings 

73. The precise sense in which complexness is to be understood 

74. Illustrations of analysis as applied to the mind .... 

75. Complex notions of external origin. 

76. Of objects contemplated as wholes. 

CHAPTER X. 

ABSTRACTION. 

77. Abstraction implied in the analysis of complex ideas . 

78. Instances of particular abstract ideas. 

79. Mental process in separating and abstracting them 

80. General abstract notions the same with genera and species 

81. Process in classification, or the forming of genera and species . 

82. Early classifications sometimes incorrect ..... 

83. Illustrations of our earliest classifications. 

84. Of the nature of general abstract ideas. 

85. The power of general abstraction in connexion with numbers, &c. 

86. Of general abstract truths or principles . . . . 

87. Of the speculations of philosophers and others .... 

CHAPTER XI. 

OF ATTENTION. 

88. Of the general nature of attention. 

89. Of different degrees of attention. 

90. Dependence of memory on attention. 

91. Of exercising attention in reading. 

92. Alleged inability to command the attention. 

CHAPTER XII. 

DREAMING. 

93. Definition of dreams and the prevalence of them 

94. Connexion of dreams with our waking thoughts .... 

95. Dreams are often caused by our sensations. 

96. Explanation of the incoherency of dreams. (1st cause) . 

97. Second cause of the incoherency of dreams. 

98! Apparent reality of dreams. (1st cause). 

99. Apparent reality of dreams. (2d cause). 

100. Of our estimate of time in dreaming. 

101. Explanation of the preceding statements. 

PART II. 

INTELLECTUAL STATES OF INTERNAL ORIGIN. 
CHAPTER I. 

INTERNAL ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 

102. The soul has fountains of knowledge within • . : • 

103. Declaration of Locke, that the soul has knowledge in itself 


Vll 

Fag« 

83 

ib. 

84 

85 

86 

87 

88 

89 

90 

91 

92 

93 

94 

95 

96 

97 

ib. 

98 

99 

ib. 

100 

101 

102 

103 

104 

105 

107 

ib. 

108 

110 

ib. 

Ill 

112 

113 

114 

119 

120 











via 


CONTENTS. 


Section 

104. The beginning of knowledge is in the senses 

105. There may also be internal accessions to knowledge . . 

106. Instances of notions which have an internal origin . 

107. Other instances of ideas which have an internal origin 

CHAPTER II. 

ORIGINAL SUGGESTION. 

108. Import of suggestion, and its application in Reid and Stewart 

109. Ideas of existence, mind, self-existence, and personal identity 

110. Of the nature of unity, and the origin of that notion . 

111. Nature of succession, and origin of the idea of succession . 

112. Origin of the notion of duration. 

113. Illustrations of the nature of duration. 

114. Of time and its measurements, and of eternity 

115. The idea of space not of external origin .... 

116. The idea of space has its origin in suggestion 

117. Of the origin of the idea of power. 

118. Occasions of the origin of the idea of power . 

119. Of the ideas of right and wrong. 

120. Origin of the ideas of moral merit and demerit 

121. Of other elements of knowledge developed in suggestion 

122. Suggestion a source of principles as well as of ideas . 


Page 
120 
. 121 
. 122 
. ib. 


. 123 
. 124 
. 126 
. 127 
. 128 


. ib. 
. 129 
. 130 
. 131 
. 132 


. ib. 
. 133 
. 134 
. 135 
. ib. 


CHAPTER III. 

, CONSCIOUSNESS. 

123. Consciousness the 2d source of internal knowledge; its nature . 136 

124. Further remarks on the proper objects of consciousness . . 137 

125. Consciousnes a ground or law of belief.138 

126. Instances of knowledge developed in consciousness . . . ib. 


CHAPTER IV. 

RELATIVE SUGGESTION OR JUDGMENT. 

127. Of the susceptibility of perceiving or feeling relations . 

128. Occasions on which feelings of relation may arise 

129. Of the use of correlative terms. 

130. Of relations of identity and diversity. 

131. (n.) Relations of degree, and names expressive of them 

132. (hi.) Of relations of proportion. 

133. (iv.) Of relations of place or position. 

134. (v.) Of relations of time. 

135. (vi.) Of ideas of possession.j 

136. (vii.) Of relations of cause and effect. 

137. Of complex terms involving the relation of cause and "effect 

138. Connexion of relative suggestion with reasoning 

CHAPTER V. 

ASSOCIATION, (i.) PRIMARY LAWS. 

139. Reasons for considering this subject here . . 

140. Meaning of association and illustrations . . . ’ 

141. Of the general laws of association 

142. Resemblance the first general law of association " 

143. Of resemblance in the effects produced . 

144. Contrast the second general or primary law . ] 

145. Contiguity the third general or primary law 

146. Cause and effect the fourth primary law 


140 

141 

142 
ib. 

143 

144 

145 

146 

147 

148 

149 

150 



152 

153 

154 

155 

157 

158 















CONTENTS. 


IX 


CHAPTER VI. 


ASSOCIATION. (II.) SECONDARY LAWS. 

Section Tags 

147. Secondary laws, and their connexion with the primary . . 159 

148. Of the influence of lapse of time. 160 

149. Secondary law of repetition or habit.161 

150 . Of the secondary law of co-existent emotion .... 162 

151. Original difference in the mental constitution .... 163 

152. The foregoing as applicable to the sensibilities .... 164 


CHAPTER VII. 

MEMORY. 


153. Remarks on the general nature of memory.166 

154. Of memory as a ground or law of belief.167 

155. Of differences in the strength of memory.168 

156. Of circumstantial memory, or that species of memory which is 

based on the relations of contiguity in time and place . . 169 

157. Illustrations of specific or circumstantial memory . . . 170 

158. Of philosophic memory, or that species of memory which is based 

on other relations than those of contiguity, .... 171 

159. Illustrations of philosophic memory.172 

160. Of that species of memory called intentional recollection . . 173 

161. Nature of intentional recollection.174 

162. Instance illustrative of the preceding statements . . . . ib. 

163. Marks of a good memory.175 

164. Directions or rules for the improvement of the memory . . 177 

165. Further directions for the improvement of the memory . . 179 

166. Of observance of the truth in connexion with memory . . 180 


CHAPTER VIII. 

DURATION OF MEMORY. 

167. Restoration of thoughts and feelings supposed to be forgotten . 181 

168. Mental action quickened by influence on the physical system . 183 

169. Other instances of quickened mental action, and of a restoration 

of thoughts.184 

170. EfFect on the memory of a severe attack of fever . . . . ib. 

171. Approval and illustrations of these views from Coleridge . . 185 

172. Application of the principles of this chapter to education . . 187 

173. Connexion of this doctrine with the final judgment and a future 

life . ,.189 

CHAPTER IX. 

REASONING. 

174. Reasoning a source of ideas and knowledge 

175. Definition of reasoning, and of propositions . 

176. Process of the mind in all cases of reasoning 

177. Illustration of the preceding statement 

178. Grounds of the selection of propositions 

179. Reasoning implies the existence of antecedent or assumed propo¬ 

sitions . 195 

180. Further considerations on this subject 196 

181. Of differences in the power of reasoning.197 

182. Of habits of reasoning., • - *198 

183 Of reasoning in connexion with language or expression . .199 

184. Illustration of the foregoing section. 290 




190 

191 

192 

193 

194 










X 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER X. 


DEMONSTRATIVE REASONING. 

Section ' Pagej 

185. Of the subjects of demonstrative reasoning.20T 

186. Use of definitions and axioms in demonstrative reasoning . . 202 

187. The opposites of demonstrative reasonings absurd . . .203 

188. Demonstrations do not admit of different degrees of belief . . 204; 

189. Of the use of diagrams in demonstrations.205 


CHAPTER XI. 

MORAL REASONING. 


190. Of the subjects and importance of moral reasoning . . . 206 

191. Of the nature of moral certainty. 207 3 

192. Of reasoning from analogy. 208 jj 

193. Of reasoning by induction. 209 . 

194. Of combined or accumulated arguments.210; 


CHAPTER XII. 

PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS IN REASONING. 

195. Rules relating to the practice of reasoning.211 

196. Of being influenced in reasoning by a love of the truth . . ib. 

197. Care to be used in correctly stating the subject of discussion . 212 i 

198. Consider the kind of evidence applicable to the subject . . 213 ] 

199. Reject the aid of false arguments or sophisms . . . . ib. j 

200. Fallacia equivocations, or the use of equivocal terms and phrases 215 i 

201. Of the sophism of estimating actions and character from the cir¬ 

cumstances of success merely. 216 

202. Of adherence to our opinions. 217 

203. Effects on the mind of debating for victory instead of truth . 218 


CHAPTER XIII. 

IMAGINATION. 


204. Imagination an intellectual rather than a sensitive process . . 219 

205. The imagination closely related to the reasoning power . .. 220 

206. Definition of the power of imagination . . . . I 221 

207. Process of the mind in the creations of the imagination . * 222 

208. Further remarks on the same subject.223 

209. Illustration from the writings of Dr. Reid . . . * . ib. 

210. Grounds of the preference of one conception to another . ’ 224 

211. Illustration of the subject from Milton.’ 225 

212. The creations of imagination not entirely voluntary . . . ] ib. 

213. Illustration of the statements of the preceding section . . . 227 

214. On the utility of the faculty of the imagination .... 228 

215. Importance of the imagination in connexion with reasoning . 229 


CHAPTER XIV. 


DISORDERED INTELLECTUAL ACTION. 
(I.) EXCITED CONCEPTIONS OR APPARITIONS. 


216. 

217. 

218. 

219. 

220 . 


Disordered intellectual action as connected with the body . 
Of excited conceptions and of apparitions in general 
Of the less permanent excited conceptions of sight . 

Of the less permament excited conceptions of sound . ! 

First cause of permanently vivid conceptions or apparitic 
Morbid sensibility of the retina of the eye 


231 

232 
ib. 

234 

235 









CONTENTS. 


Section 


221. Second cause of permanently excited conceptions or apparitions. 

Neglect of periodical blood-letting .... 

222. Methods of relief adopted in this case .... 

223. Third cause of excited conceptions. Attacks of fever 

224. Fourth cause of apparitions and other excited conceptions 

fiammation of the brain. 

Facts having relation to the fourth cause of excited conceptions 
Fifth cause of apparitions. Hysteria ..... 


225. 

226. 


CHAPTER XV. 


XI 

Paga 


In- 


237 

239 

240 


241 

242 

243 


DISORDERED INTELLECTUAL ACTION. 


(II.) INSANITY. 

227. Meaning of the term insanity. 244 

228. Of disordered or alienated sensations. 245 

229. Of disordered or alienated external perception .... 24G 

230. Disordered state or insanity of original suggestion . . . 247 

231. Unsoundness or insanity of consciousness. 248 

232. Insanity of the judgment or relative suggestion. 249 

233. Disordered or alienated association. Light-headedness . . 250 

234. Illustrations of this mental disorder. 251 

235. Of partial insanity ot alienation of the memory . . . . ib. 

236. Of the power of reasoning in the partially insane .... 253 

237. Instance of the above form of insanity of reasoning . . . 254 

238. Partial mental alienation by means of the imagination . . 255 

239. Insanity or alienation of the power of belief .... 256 


DIVISION II. 

THE SENSIBILITIES. 

SENTIENT OR SENSITIVE STATES OP THE MIND.—SENTIMENTS. 

INTRODUCTION. 

CLASSIFICATION OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 

240. Reference to the general division of the whole mind . . . 261 

241. The action of the sensibilities implies that of the intellect . . ib. 

242. Division of the sensibilities into natural or pathematic, and moral 262 

243. The moral and natural sensibilities have different objects . . 263 

244. The moral sensibilities higher in rank than the natural . . 264 

245. The moral sensibilities wanting in brutes.ib. 

246. Classification of the natural sensibilities.265 

247. Classification of the moral sensibilities.266 


PART I. 


NATURAL OR PATHEMATIC SENSIBILITIES. 
NATURAL OR PATHEMATIC SENTIMENTS. 

CLASS I. 

EMOTIONS OR EMOTIVE STATES OF THE MIND. 


CHAPTER I. 

NATURE OF THE EMOTION8. 

248. We have a knowledge of emotions by consciousness . . .269 

249! The place of emotions, considered in reference to other mental 

acts.270 

250. The character of emotions changes so as to comform to that of 

perceptions. 271 

251. Emotions characterized by rapidity and variety . 


. 273 








xii 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER II. 


Section 


EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


252. Characteristics of emotions of beauty . 

253. Of what is meant by beautiful objects . 

254. Of the distinction between beautiful and other objects 

255. Grounds or occasions of emotions of beauty various 

256. All objects not equally fitted to cause these emotions . 

257. A susceptibility of emotions of beauty an ultimate principle of our 

mental constitution. 

258. Remarks on the beauty of forms.—The circle 

259. Original or intrinsic beauty.—The circle 

260. Of the beauty of straight and angular forms . 

261. Of square, pyramidal, and triangular forms . , 

262. Of the original or intrinsic beauty of colours 

263. Further illustrations of the original beauty of colours 

264. Of sounds considered as a source of beauty . 

265. Illustrations of the original beauty of sounds 

266. Further instances of the original beauty of sounds 

267. The permanency of musical power dependent on its being intrinsic 

268. Of motion as an element of beauty .... 

269. Explanation of the beauty of motion from Kaimes * 


Pag, 

27c-J 

274)1 

27£?j 

270 

277 


278 

279 
280I 

ib. 

281 

283 

284 
286 
287 

290 
ib. 

291 

292 


CHAPTER III. 


ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 

270. Associated beauty implies an antecedent or intrinsic beauty . 293 

271. Objects may become beautiful by association merely . . . 294 , 

272. Further illustrations of associated feelings .....' 295 

273. Instances of national associations . . . . , ' ’ 297 I 

274. The sources of associated beauty coincident with those of human i 

happiness. 298 

275. Summary of views in regard to the beautiful* ! *. * * 299 I 


CHAPTER IV 


EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 

276. Connexion between beauty and sublimity .... 

277. The occasions of the emotions of sublimity various . 

278. Great extent or expansion an occasion of sublimity ! ! 

279. Great height an element or occasion of sublimity ] [ 

280. Of depth in connexion with the sublime . . j 

281. Of colours in connexion with the sublime 

282. Of sounds as furnishing an occasion of sublime emotions 

283. Of motion in connexion with the sublime 

284. Indications of power accompanied by emotions of the sublime 

285. Of the original or primary sublimity of objects . 

286. Considerations in proof of the original sublimity of objects 

287. Influence of association on emotions of sublimity , 


. 300 
. 301 
. 302 
. ib. 
. 303 
. 304 
. ib. 
. 305 
. 306 
. 307 
. ib. 
. 308 


CHAPTER V. 

EMOTIONS OF THE LUDICROUS. 

288. General nature of emotions of the ludicrous 

289. Occasions of emotions of the ludicrous . . * 

290. Of what is understood by wit . 

291. Of wit as it consists in burlesque or in debasing objects 

292. Of wit when employed in aggrandizing objects . 

293. Of the character and occasions of humour . 

294. Of the practical utility of feelings of the ludicrous* 


. 309 
. 310 
. 311 
. ib. 
. 312 
. 313 
. 314 






CONTENTS. 


xiii 


CHAPTER VI. 

INSTANCES OP OTHER SIMPLE EMOTIONS. 


lection r.iga 

595. Emotions of cheerfulness, joy, and gladness. 314 

596. Emotions of melancholy, sorrow, and grief.315 

597. Emotions of surprise, astonishment, and wonder . . . .316 

598. Emotions of dissatisfaction, displeasure, and disgust . . . ib. 

599. Emotions of diffidence, modesty, and shame .... 317 

J00. Emotions of regard, reverence, and adoration . . . . ib. 


C L A S S 11. 
THE DESIRES. 
CHAPTER I. 


NATURE OP DESIRES. 

301. Of the prevalence of desire in this department of the mind . 321 

302. The nature of desires known from consciousness . . . ib. 

303. Of the place of desires in relation to other mental states . . 322 

304. The desires characterized by comparative fixedness and perma¬ 

nency .323 

305. Desires always imply an object desired.324 

306. The fulfilment of desires attended with enjoyment . . . ib. 

307. Of variations or degrees in the strength of the desires . . . 325 

308. Tendency to excite movement an attribute of desire . . . ib. 

309. Classification of this part of the sensibilities .... 326 

310. The principles, based upon desire, susceptible of a twofold op¬ 

eration .327 


CHAPTER II. 


INSTINCTS. 

311. Of instincts in man as compared with those of inferior animals 

312. Illustrations of the instincts of brute animals 

313. Instances of instincts in the human mind .... 

314. Further instances of instincts in men. 

315. Of the final cause or use of instincts. 


328 

ib. 

330 

331 

332 


CHAPTER III. 

APPETITES. 

316. Of the general nature and characteristics of the appetites . . 333 

317. The appetites necessary to our preservation, and not originally of 

a selfish character.. • ib* 

318. Of the prevalence and origin of appetites for intoxicating drugs . 334 

319. Of the twofold operation and the morality of the appetites . . 335 


CHAPTER IV. 


PROPENSITIES. 

320. General remarks on the nature of the propensities 


336 


32l! Principle of self-preservation, or the desire of continued existence 337 
322! Of the twofold action of the principle of self-preservation . . 338 

323. Of curiosity, or the desire of knowledge .... 

324. Further illustrations of the principle of curiosity . . . 

325. Of the twofold operation and the morality of the principle of cun 

osity.. 

326. Imitativeness, or the propensity to imitation 
Practical results of the principle of imitation 

B 


327. 


ib. 

339 

340 

341 

342 







xiv CONTENTS. 


Section E*tl 

328. Of the natural desire of esteem.34 

329. Of the desire of esteem as a rule of conduct.34 

330. Of the desire of possession . . ... . . .34' 

331. Of the moral character of the possessory principle . . . 34' 

332. Of perversions of the possessory desire.341 

333. Of the desire of power.34! 

334. Of the moral character of the desire of power . . . . 35( 

335. Propensity of self-love, or the desire of happiness . . .351 

336. Of selfishness as distinguished from self-love . . . .355 

337. Reference to the opinions of philosophical writers . . . 35i 

338. The principle of sociality original in the human mind . . . 354 

339. Evidence of the existence of this principle of sociality . . 355 

340. Other illustrations of the existence of this principle . . . 35€ 

341. Relation of the social principle to civil society . . . .357 


CHAPTER Y. 

THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


342. Of the comparative rank of the affections.358 

343. Of the complex nature of the affections.359 

344. Of resentment or anger.360 

345. Illustrations of instinctive resentment.361 

346. Uses and moral character of instinctive resentment . . . ib. 

347. Of voluntary in distinction from instinctive resentment . . 362 

348. Tendency of anger to excess, and the natural checks to it . . 363 

349. Other reasons for checking and subduing the angry passions . 365 

350. Modifications of resentment. Peevishness.366 

351. Modifications of resentment. Envy.367 

352. Modifications of resentment. Jealousy ..... 368 

353. Modifications of resentment. Revenge.369 

354. Nature of the passion of fear.ib. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 

355. 

356. 

357. 

358. 

359. 

360. 

361. 

362. 

363. 

364. 

365. 

366. 

367. 

368. 

369. 

370. 

371. 

372. 

373. 

374. 

375. 


Of the nature of love or benevolence in general . 

Love, in its various forms, characterized by a twofold action 

Of the parental affection. 

Illustrations of the strength of the parental affection . 

Of the filial affection. 

The filial affection original or implanted. 

Illustrations of the filial affection. 

Of the nature of the fraternal affection. 

On the utility of the domestic affections. 

Of the moral character of the domestic affections, and of the be¬ 
nevolent affections generally. 

Of the moral character of the voluntary exercises of the benevo¬ 
lent affections. 

Of the connexion between benevolence and rectitude . 

Of humanity, or the love of the human race ] 

Further proofs in support of the doctrine of an innate humanity^ 

cr love for the human race. 

Proofs of a humane or philanthropic principle from the existence 

of benevolent institutions. 

Other remarks in proof of the same doctrine . 

Of patriotism or love of country. 

Of the affection of friendship.] 

Of the affection of pity or sympathy . ... . 

Of the moral character of pity.) ’ 

Of the affection of gratitude. 


371 

372 
ib. 

374 

375 
37$ 
37r 

379 

380 

381 

382 

383 

384 

386 

387 

388 

389 

390 

391 

392 
394 












CONTENTS. 


XV 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 

LOVE TO THE SUPREME BEING. 

iettion Page 

J70. Man created originally with the principle of love to God . . 395 

177. That man was originally created with a principle of love to God, 

farther shown from the Scriptures.39G 

}78. Further proof that man was thus created.398 

379. Relation of the principle of supreme love to God to the other 

principles of the pathematic sensibilities.ib. 

380. The absence of this principle attended with an excessive and sin¬ 

ful action of other principles. 400 

381. Further illustrations of the results of the absence of this principle 401 

CHAPTER VIII. 

HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 


382. Meaning of the term habit.404 

383. Of habits in connexion with the appetites.ib. 

384. Of habits in connexion with the propensities .... 405 

385. Of habits in connexion with the affections.406 

386. Of the origin of secondary active principles.408 


PART II. 

THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES OR CONSCIENCE. 


MORAL OR CONSCIENTIOUS STATES OF THE MIND.—MORAL SENTIMENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 


EMOTIONS OF MORAL APPROVAL AND DISAPPROVAL. 

387. Reference to the general division. 

388. Classification of the moral sensibilities. 

389. -Nature of the moral emotions of approval and disapproval . 

390. Of the place or position, mentally considered, of the emotions of 

approval or disapproval.. 

391. Changes in the moral emotions take place in accordance with 

changes in the antecedent perceptions. 

392. Of objects of moral approval and disapproval .... 


413 

414 
ib. 

416 

ib. 

418 


CHAPTER II. 

RELATION OF REASONING TO THE MORAL NATURE 

393. Of the doctrine which confounds reasoning and conscience 

394. Of the close connexion between conscience and reasoning . 

395. Illustration of the preceding section 

396. Of the training or education of the conscience 

397. Of guilt, when a person acts conscientiously 


. 419 
. 420 
. 421 
. 422 
. 423 


CHAPTER III. 


FEELINGS OF MORAL OBLIGATION. 

Feelings of moral obligation distinct from feelings of moral appro¬ 
val and disapproval.. 

Proof of the existence of obligatory feelings from consciousness . 

Further proof from the conduct of men. 

Further proof from language and literature 


yL Further proof from the necessity of these feelings 


424 
ib. 

425 

426 

427 





XVI 


CONTENTS. 


Section Page 

403. Feelings of obligation simple and not susceptible of definition . 427 

404. They are susceptible of different degrees.428 

405. Of their authoritative and enforcing nature . . . . . ib. 

406. Feelings of obligation differ from those of mere approval and dis¬ 

approval .429 

407. Feelings of obligation have particular reference to the future . 430 

408. Feelings of obligation subsequent in time to the moral emotions 

of approval and disapproval.431 

409. Feelings of obligation differ from desires.432 

410. Further considerations on this subject.ib. 

CHAPTER IV". 

UNIFORMITY OF ACTION IN THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 

411. Of uniformity in the decisions of the moral nature and till princi¬ 

ple on which it is regulated. 433 1 

412. The nature of conscience, considered as a uniform principle of ac- J 

tion, requires that it should vary in its decisions with circum¬ 
stances . 434 

413. Diversities in moral decisions dependent on differences in the 

amount of knowledge.436 

414. Of diversities in moral judgment in connexion with differences 

in civil and political institutions. 437 

415. Of diversities and obliquities of moral judgment in connexion 

with speculative opinions.ib. 

416. Further illustrations of the influence of wrong speculative opin¬ 

ions . 439 1 

417. Influence of early associations on moral judgments . . .440 

418. Of diversities in the moral judgment in connexion with an excited 

state of the passions. 441 

CHAPTER V. 

MORAL EDUCATION. 

419. Suggestions on the importance of moral education . . . 442 jj 

420. The mind early occupied either with good or bad principles . 443 

421. Of the time when moral instruction ought to commence . . 444 

422. Of the discouragements attending a process of moral instruction 445 

423. Of the importance, in a moral point of view, of adopting correct 

speculative opinions.. 

424. Of the knowledge of the Supreme Being, and of the study of re¬ 

ligious truth generally .. 


THE SENSIBILITIES, OR SENSITIVE NATURE. 

SENSITIVE STATES OF THE MIND OR SENTIMENTS. 

PART III. 

IMPERFECT OR DISORDERED SENSITIVE ACTION. 
CHAPTER I. 

DISORDERED AND ALIENATED ACTION OF THE APPETITES AND PROPEN¬ 
SITIES. 

425. Introductory remarks on disordered sensitive action . . .451 

426. Of what is meant by a disordered and alienated state of the sensi¬ 

bilities .ib 

427. Of the disordered and alienated action of the appetites* ! * 452 










CONTENTS 


XVII 

■Section _ Page 

428. Disordered action of the principle of self-preservation . . . 454 

429. Disordered and alienated action of the possessory principle . . 455 

430. Instances of the second kind or form of disordered action of the 

possessory principle.ib. 

431. Disordered action of imitativeness, or the principle of imitation . 456 

432. Disordered action of the principle of sociality .... 457 

433. Further remarks on the disordered action of the social propensity 458 

434. Of the disordered action of the desire of esteem .... 459 

435. Disordered action of the desire of power.460 

CHAPTER II. 

SYMPATHETIC IMITATION. 

436. Of sympathetic imitation, and what is involved in it . . . 461 

437. Familiar instances of sympathetic imitation.462 

438. Instances of sympathetic imitation at the poor-house of Harlem . 463 

439. Other instances of this species of imitation.464 

CHAPTER III. 

DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 

440. Of the states of mind denominated presentiments . . . 465 

441. Of sudden and strong impulses of the mind.467 

442. Insanity of the affections or passions.468 

443. Of the mental disease termed hypochondriasis . . . . 469 

444. Of intermissions of hypochondriasis, and of its remedies . . 471 

445. Disordered action of the passion of fear.473 

446. Perversions of the benevolent affections.ib. 

CHAPTER IV. 

DISORDERED ACTION OF THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 

447. Nature of voluntary moral derangement . . . . . 475 

448. Of accountability in connexion with this form of disordered con¬ 

science .476 

449. Of natural or congenital moral derangement .... 477 

450. Of moral accountability in cases of natural or congenital moral 

derangement.. . . . *479 












4 




t 







MENTAL PHILOSOPHY. 


DIVISION FIRST. 

THE INTELLECT OR UNDERSTANDING. 
INTELLECTIVE OR INTELLECTUAL STATES OF THE MIND. 


PART FIRST. 


INTELLECTUAL STATES OF EXTERNAL ORIGIN. 


























„> .TS 

' 




































































' 














MENTAL PHILOSOPHY. 


CHAPTER I. 

ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE IN GENERAL. 

§ 1. The mind susceptible of a threefold division. 

The Human Mind, regarded as a whole, is undoubted¬ 
ly to be considered as constituting a nature or existence 
which is truly, and in the strictest sense, one and indivis¬ 
ible. At the same time, if we would have a correct and 
thorough knowledge of it, it is necessary to contemplate 
it in three distinct points of view. Accordingly, the lead¬ 
ing Divisions in which the Mind presents itself to our 
notice, are the Understanding or Intellect, the Sensibili¬ 
ties, and the Will. The states of mind which are the 
results of the action of these leading mental departments, 
are appropriately expressed by the phrases intellectual, 
sensitive or sentient, and voluntary states of the mind. 
—It is the object of this Abridgment to examine, in as 
brief a manner as possible, the Divisions which naturally 
come first in order, viz., the Intellect and the Sensibilities. 
The limits which we find it necessary to assign to the 
present undertaking, do not allow us to enter into an ex¬ 
amination of the distinct and important department of the 

Will. 

§ 2. The Intellect susceptible of a subordinate division. 

We begin with the Intellect or Understanding; that 
department of the mind by means of which we perceive, 
compare, and reason; and which, in its various modes of 
action, is the source of all our knowledge. The Intel¬ 
lectual part of man may be considered under two points 
of view, viz., the External Intellect and the Internal In¬ 
tellect; in other words, intellectual states of External, 
and intellectual states of Internal origin.—Intellectual 
states of External origin depend for their existence upon 



18 


ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE IN GENERAL. 


the existence and presence of external objects. If the 
mind were insulated and cut off from the outward and 
material world, or if there were no such outward world, < 
we could not touch, nor hear, nor see. All those mental 
states which we express w T hen we speak of the diversities 
of touch, and smell, and taste, of sound and sight, are j 
immediately dependent on the existence and presence of 
something which is exterior to the intellect itself. 

But there are other states of the Intellect, such, for in- 1 
stance, as are expressed by the words truth, falsehood, : 

POWER, INTELLIGENCE, MERIT, DEMERIT, CAUSE, OBLIGATION, !|j 

&c., which are not thus closely connected with external 
things. And these, in distinction from those of Exter¬ 
nal origin, are denominated intellectual states of Internal ; 
origin. 

§ 3. Of the connexion of the mind with the material world. 

As a general statement, the knowledge which is Exter- ■ 
nal in its origin is acquired first; the knowledge which is 
Internal is subsequent. The mind, whatever may ulti- 
mately be found to be the extent of its powers of percep¬ 
tion, appears, in the first instance, to be wholly destitute 
of any actual knowledge; and is first brought into action, 1 
and is put in the 'way of acquiring knowledge, by means 
of its connexion with the material or outward world. 

This leads us to remark, that there is a correspondence, ! 
a mutual adaptation, between the mind and outward ma¬ 
terial things. They appear to be made for each other. 
The Creator has obviously established a close relation 
between them; and it is a striking and important fact, 
that, in this connexion of the mental and material world, 
as we have just had occasion to intimate, we are proba¬ 
bly to look for the commencement of the mind’s activity, 1 
and for the beginnings of knowledge. 

The soul, considered in its relationship to external na¬ 
ture, may be compared to a stringed instrument. Re¬ 
garded in itself, it is an invisible existence, having the 
capacity and elements of harmony. The nerves, the eye, 
and the senses generally, are the chords and artificial 
framework which God has woven round its unseen and 
unsearchable essence. This living and curious instru- 





ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE IN GENERAL. 


19 


ment, made up of the invisible soul and the bodily frame¬ 
work which surrounds it, is at first voiceless and silent. 
Nor does it appear that it will ever send forth its sounds 
of harmony, until it is touched and operated upon by 
those outward influences which exist in the various forms 
and adaptations of the material world. Under these in¬ 
fluences it is first awakened into activity. 

§ 4. Our first knowledge in general of a material or external origin. 

In accordance with what has been said, we lay down 
the general principles, first, that during the early period 
of life there is an intimate connexion between the mind 
and the material world ; and, second, that far the great¬ 
er portion of the mind’s acts during that period can be 
traced to a material source. In proof of both positions, 
particularly the latter, we may properly attend to the fol¬ 
lowing considerations. 

(I.) What has been said will, in the first place, be 
found agreeable to each one’s individual experience. If 
we look back to the early periods of life, we discover, 
not merely that our ideas are then comparatively few in 
number, but that far the greater proportion of them are 
suggested by external objects. They are forced upon us 
by our immediate wants ; they have relation to what we 
ourselves see, or hear, or touch; and only a small pro¬ 
portion are internal and abstract. As we advance in 
years, susceptibilities of the mind are brought into exer¬ 
cise, which have a less intimate connexion with things 
external; and thoughts from within are more rapidly 
multiplied than from without. We have in some meas¬ 
ure exhausted that which is external; and as the mind, 
awakened to a love of knowledge and a consciousness 
of its powers, has at last been brought fully into action 
by means of repeated affections of the senses, a new 
world (as yet in some degree a terra incognita) projects 
itself upon our attention, where we are called upon to 
push our researches and gratify our curiosity.—This is the 
general experience, the testimony which each one can 
give for himself. 

§ 5. Shown further from what we notice in children. 

In the second place, what has been said finds confirma- 




20 ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE IN GENERAL. 

tion in what we observe of the progress of the mind in 
infants and children generally. The course of things 
which we observe in them, agrees with what our person-; 
al consciousness and remembrance, as far back as it goes,; 
enables us to testify with no little confidence in our own 
case. No one can observe the operations of the mind in 
infants and children, without being led to believe, that 
' the Creator has instituted a connexion between the mind 
and the material world, and that the greater portion of 
our early knowledge is from an outward source. 

To the infant its nursery is the world. The first ideas 
of the human race are its particular conceptions of its 
nurse and mother; and the origin and history of all its 
notions may be traced to its animal wants, to the light 
that breaks in from its window, and to the few objects in 
the immediate neighbourhood of the cradle and hearth. 
When it has become a few years of age, there are other 
sources of information, other fountains of thought, but 
they are still external and material. The chfld then 
learns the topography of his native village; he explores 
the margin of its river, ascends its flowering hills, and 
penetrates the seclusion of its valleys. His mind is full 
of activity; new and exalting views crowd upon his per¬ 
ceptions ; he beholds, and hears, and handles; he won¬ 
ders, and is delighted. And it is not till after he has 
grasped the elements of knowledge which the outward 
world gives, that he retires within himself, compares, 
reasons, and seeks for causes and effects. 

It is in accordance with what has now been stated of 
the tendencies of mind in children, that we generally find 
them instructed by means of sensible objects, or by pic¬ 
tures of such objects. When their teachers make an ab¬ 
stract statement to them of an action or event, they do 
not understand it; they listen to it with an appearance 
of’confusion and vacancy, for the process is undoubtedly 
against nature. But show them the objects themselves, 
or a faithful picture of them, and interpret your abstract 
expressions by a reference to the object or picture, and 
they are observed to learn with rapidity and pleasure. 
Ihe time has not yet arrived for the springing up and 
growth of thoughts of an internal and abstract origin. 


ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE IN GENERAL. 21 

$ 6. Further proof of the beginnings of knowledge from external causes. 

In the third place, the history of language is a strong 
proof of the correctness of the position, that the mind is 
first brought into action by means of the senses, and ac¬ 
quires its earliest knowledge from that source. At first 
words are few in number, corresponding to the limited ex¬ 
tent of ideas. The vocabulary of savage tribes (those, 
for example, which inhabit the American continent) is in 
general exceedingly limited. The growth of a language 
corresponds to the growth of mind; it extends itself by 
the increased number and power of its words, nearly 
in exact correspondence with the multiplication and the 
increased complexity of thought. Now the history of all 
languages teaches us, that words, which were invented 
and brought into use one after another in the gradual way 
just mentioned, were first employed to express external 
objects, and afterward were used to express thoughts of 
internal origin. 

Almost all the words in every language, expressive of 
the susceptibilities and operations of the mind, may be 
clearly shown to have had an external origin and appli¬ 
cation before they were applied to the mind. To imagine, 
in its literal signification, implies the forming of a picture; 
to impress conveys the idea of leaving a stamp or mark, 
as the seal leaves its exact likeness or stamp on wax; to re¬ 
flect literally means to turn back, to go over the ground 
again, &c. These words cannot be applied to the mind 
in the literal sense; the nature of the mind will not admit 
of such an application; the inference therefore is, that 
they first had an external application. Now if it be an 
established truth, as the history of languages seems to 
show that it is, that all language has a primary reference 
to external objects, and that there is no term expressive 
of mental acts which was not originally expressive of 
something material, the conclusion would seem to be a 
fair one, that the part of our knowledge which has its rise 
by means of the senses, is, as a general statement, first in 
origin. And the more so, when we combine with these 
views the considerations which have been previously ad¬ 
vanced. 


22 


ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE IN GENERAL. 


§ 7. The same subject further illustrated. 

And, in the fourth place, it is not too much to say, that: 
all the observations which have been made on persons 
who, from their birth or at any subsequent period, have 
been deprived of any of the senses, and all the extraordi¬ 
nary facts which have come to knowledge, having a bear- ' 
ing on this inquiry, go strongly in favour of the views * 
which have been given.—It appears, for instance, from the 
observations which have been made in regard to persons 
who have been deaf until a particular period, and then 
have been restored to the power of hearing, that they have 
never previously had those ideas which naturally come in 
by that sense. If a person has been born blind, the re¬ 
sult is the same ; or if, having the sense of sight, it has so 
happened that he has never seen any colours of a partic¬ 
ular description. In the one case, he has no ideas of col¬ 
ours at all ; and in the other, only of those colours which 
he has seen.—It may be said, perhaps, that this is what 
might be expected, and merely proves the senses to be a 
source of knowledge, without necessarily involving the 
priority of that knowledge to w T hat has an internal origin. 
But then observe the persons referred to a little further, 
and it will be found, as a general statement, that the in¬ 
ternal powers of their minds have not been unfolded; they 
lay wrapped up in a great measure in their original dark¬ 
ness ; no inward light springs up to compensate for the 
absence of that which, in other cases, bursts in from the 
outward world. This circumstance evidently tends to 
confirm the principles which we are endeavouring to il¬ 
lustrate. 

Of those extraordinary instances to which we alluded, 
as having thrown some light on the history of our intel¬ 
lectual acquisitions, is the account which is given in the 
Memoirs of the French Academy of Sciences for the year 
1703, of a deaf and dumb young man in the city of Char¬ 
tres. At the age of three-and-twenty, it so happened, to 
the great surprise of the whole town, that he was sud¬ 
denly restored to the sense of hearing, and in a short time 
he acquired the use of language. Deprived for so long a 
period of a sense which, in importance, ranks with the 
sight and the touch, unable to hold communion with his 


ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE IN GENERAL. 


23 


fellow-beings by means of oral or written language, and 
not particularly compelled, as he had every care taken of 
him by his friends and relations, to bring his faculties into 
exercise, the powers of his mind remained without hav¬ 
ing opportunity to unfold themselves. Being examined 
by some men of discernment, it was found that he had no 
idea of a God, of a soul, of the moral merit or demerit 
of human actions, and, what might seem to be yet more 
remarkable, he knew not what it was to die ; the agonies 
of dissolution, the grief of friends, and the ceremonies 
of interment being to him inexplicable mysteries. 

Here we see how much knowledge a person was de¬ 
prived of, merely by his wanting the single sense of hear¬ 
ing ; a proof that the senses were designed by our Cre¬ 
ator to be the first source of knowledge, and that without 
them the faculties of the soul would never become oper¬ 
ative. 

$ 8. Illustration from the case of James Mitchell. 

But this is not the only instance of this sort which in¬ 
genious men have noticed and recorded. In the Transac¬ 
tions of the Royal Society at Edinburgh, (vol. vii., part 
i.,) is a Memoir communicated by Dugald Stewart, which 
gives an account of James Mitchell, a boy born deaf and 
blind. The history of this lad, who laboured under the 
uncommon affliction of this double deprivation, illustrates 
and confirms all that has been above stated. He made 
what use he could of the only senses which he possessed, 
those of touch, taste, and smell, and gained from them a 
number of ideas. It was a proof of the diligence with 
which he employed the limited means which were given 
him, that he had by the sense of touch thoroughly ex¬ 
plored the ground in the neighbourhood of the house 
where he lived for hundreds of yards. But deprived of 
sight, of hearing, and of intercourse by speech, it was 
very evident to those who observed him, as might be ex¬ 
pected, that his knowledge was in amount exceedingly 
small. He was destitute of those perceptions which are 
appropriate to the particular senses of which he was de¬ 
prived; and also of many other notions of an internal 
origin, which would undoubtedly have arisen, if the 


24 


SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 


powers of the mind had previously been rendered fully 
operative by means of those assistances which it usually 
receives from the bodily organs.—Such instances as these, 
however they may at first appear, are extremely impor¬ 
tant. They furnish us with an appeal, not to mere spec¬ 
ulations, but to fact. And it is only by checking undue 
speculation, and by continually recurring to facts, that 
our progress in this science will become sure, rapid, and 
delightful. 


CHAPTER H. 

SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 

$ 9. Sensation a simple mental state originating in the senses. 

In tracing the history of that portion of human thought 
which is of external origin, we have frequent occasion to 
make use of the words Sensation and Perception. The 
term sensation is not of so general a nature as to include 
every variety of mental state, but is limited to such as 
answer to a particular description. It does not appear 
that the usage of language would forbid our speaking of 
the feelings of warmth, and coldness, and hardness, as 
well as of the feelings of love, and benevolence, and an¬ 
ger, but it would clearly forbid our using the term sensa¬ 
tion with an application equally extensive. Its applica¬ 
tion is not only limited, but is fixed with a considerable 
degree of precision. 

Sensation, being a simple act or state of the mind, is 
unsusceptible of definition; and this is one of its charac¬ 
teristics. As this alone, however, would not separate it 
from many other mental states, it has this peculiarity to 
distinguish it, that it is immediately successive to a change 
in some organ of sense, or, at least, to a bodily change of 
some kind . But it is evident, that, in respect to numerous 
other feelings, this statement does not hold good. They 
are immediately subsequent, not to bodily impressions, 
but to other states of the soul itself. Hence it is, that 




SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 


25 


while we speak of the sensations of heat and cold, of 
hardness, of smoothness, roughness, and the like, we do 
not commonly apply this term to joy and sorrow, hatred 
and love, and other emotions and passions. 

$ 10. All sensation is properly and truly in the mind. 

Sensation is often regarded as something having a po¬ 
sition, and as taking place in the body, and particularly 
in the organ of sense. The sensation of touch, as we 
seem to imagine, is in the hand, which is the organ of 
touch, and is not truly internal; the hearing is in the ear, 
and the vision in the eye, and not in the soul. But all 
we can say with truth and on good grounds is, that the 
organs of sense are accessory to sensation and necessary 
to it; but the sensation or feeling itself is wholly in the 
mind. How often it is said the eye sees; but the proper 
language, if we look at the subject philosophically, is, 
that the soul sees ; for the eye is only the organ, instru¬ 
ment, or minister of the soul in visual perceptions. 

“ A man,” says Dr Reid, “ cannot see the satellites 
of Jupiter but by a telescope. Does he conclude from 
this that it is the telescope that sees those stars ? By 
no means; such a conclusion would be absurd. It is no 
less absurd to conclude that it is the eye that sees, or the 
ear that hears. The telescope is an artificial organ of 
sight, but it sees not. The eye is a natural organ of 
sight, by which we see; but the natural organ sees as lit¬ 
tle .as the artificial.” 

$11. Sensations are not images or resemblances of objects. 

But while we are careful to assign sensations their true 
place in the mind, and to look upon what is outward in 
the body as merely the antecedents or cause of them, it is 
a matter of some consequence to guard against a danger 
directly the reverse of that which has been remarked on. 
We are apt to transfer to the sensation, considered as ex¬ 
isting in the mind, some of those qualities which belong to 
the external object. But in point of fact, our sensations 
are by no means copies, pictures, or images of outward ob¬ 
jects ; nor are they representations of them in any material 
sense whatever; nor do they possess any of their qualities. 






26 


SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 


It is true, we often think it otherwise ; constantly oc¬ 
cupied with external objects, when in the act of con¬ 
templation we retire within the mind, we unwarily carry 
with us the form and qualities of matter, and stamp its 
likeness on the thought itself. But the thought, whatev¬ 
er it may by the constitution of our nature be the sign of, 
has no form, and presents no image analogous to what 
are outwardly objects of touch and sight; nor has it form 
or image in any sense which we can conceive of. When,,: 
therefore, we have an idea of some object as round, we 
are not to infer, from the existence of the quality in the 
outward object, that the mental state is possessed of the 
same quality. When we think of anything as extended, : 
it is not to be supposed that the thought itself has exten- t 
sion. When we behold and admire the varieties of 
colour, we are not at liberty to indulge the presumption 
that the inward feelings are painted over, and radiant 
with corresponding hues. There is nothing of the kind ; 
and the admission of such a principle would lead to a 
multitude of errors. 


§ 12. The connexion between the mental and physical change not capa¬ 
ble of explanation. 


(I.) External bodies operate on the senses, before 
there is any affection of the mind, but it is not easy to say 
what the precise character and extent of this operation 
is. We know that some object capable of affecting the 
organ must be applied to it in some way either directly or 
indirectly, and it is a matter of knowledge also, that some 
change in the organ actually takes place; but further 
than this we are involved in uncertainty.^ All we can 
undertake to do at present is merely to make a statement 
of the facts, viz., the application of an external body, 
and some change in consequence of it in the organ of 
sense. 

(II.) Subsequently to the change in the organ, either 
at its extremity and outward developement or in the 
brain, with which it is connected, and of which it may be 
considered as making a part, a change in the mind or a 
new state of the mind immediately takes place. Here 
also we are limited to the mere statement of the fact 





SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 


27 


We here touch upon one of those boundaries of the in¬ 
tellect which men are probably not destined to pass in the 
present life. We find ourselves unable to resolve and 
explain the connexion between mind and matter in this 
case, as we do in all others. All we know, and all we 
can state with confidence is, that a mental affection is 
immediately subsequent to an affection or change which 
is physical. Such is our nature, and such the appoint¬ 
ment of Him who ordered it. 

§ 13. Of the meaning and nature of perception. 

We next come to the subject of perception, which is 
intimately connected with that of sensation. This term, 
like many others, admits of a considerable latitude in its 
application. In common language we are not only said 
to have the power of perceiving outward objects, but also 
of perceiving the agreement or disagreement in the acts 
of the mind itself. Accordingly, we perceive a tree in 
the forest or a ship at sea, and we also perceive that the 
whole is greater than a part, and that the three angles of 
a triangle are equal to two right angles. But what we 
have to say here does not concern internal perception, but 
merely that which relates to objects exterior to the mind. 

Perception, using the term in its application to outward 
objects, differs from sensation as a whole does from a part; 
it embraces more. It may be defined, therefore, an affec¬ 
tion or state of the mind which is immediately successive 
to certain affections of the organs of sense , and which is 
referred by us to something external as its cause. 

§ 14. Perception makes us acquainted with a material world. 

It will be recollected, that the term sensation, when 
applied to the mind, expresses merely the state of the 
mind, without reference to anything external, which might 
be the cause of it, and that it is the name of a truly sim¬ 
ple feeling. Perception, on the contrary, is the name of 
a complex mental state, including not merely the internal 
affection of the mind, but also a reference to the exterior 
cause. Sensation is wholly within; but Perception car¬ 
ries us, as it were, out of ourselves, and makes, us ac¬ 
quainted with the world around us. It is especially by 




28 


SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 


means of this last power, that material nature, in all its 
varieties of form and beauty, is brought within the range 
of our inspection. If we had but sensation alone, there 
would still be form, and fragrance, and colour, and har¬ 
mony of sound, but it would seem to be wholly inward. 
The mind would seem to constitute everything; we could 
know no other world, no other form of being. Percep¬ 
tion prevents the possibility of such a mistake; it unde- 
ceives and dissipates the flattering notion, that all things 
are in the soul; it leads us to other existences, and, in 
particular, to the knowledge of the vast and complicated 
fabric of the material creation. 

§ 15. Of the primary and secondary qualities of matter. 

From what has been said, it will be noticed that sen¬ 
sation implies the existence of an external material world 
as its cause, and that perception implies the same exist¬ 
ence both as cause and object. It is hardly necessary to ! 
say, that we are altogether ignorant of the subjective or 
real essence of matter. Our knowledge embraces merely i 
its qualities or properties, and nothing more. Without I 
proposing to enter into a minute examination of them, it j 
will be proper to state here, that the qualities of material ! 
bodies have been ranked by writers under the two heads i 
of Primary and Secondary. 

The primary qualities are known by being essential to ! 
the existence of all bodies. They are extension, figure, I 
divisibility, and solidity; and some writers have included i 
motion. They are called primary for the reason already j 
distinctly referred to, that all men embrace them in the 
notions which they form of matter, and that they are es- j 
sential to its existence. All bodies have extension, all 
bodies have figure, all are capable of division, all possess 
the attribute of solidity. 

By solidity in bodies (perhaps some would prefer the 
term resistance) is to be understood that quality by which 
a. body hinders the approach of others between which it 
is interposed. In this sense even water, and all other 
fluids are solid. If particles of water could be prevented 
from separating, they would oppose so great resistance, 
that it would be impossible for any two bodies between 



SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 


29 


which they might he to come in contact. This was 
shown in an experiment which was once made at Flor¬ 
ence. A quantity of water was enclosed in a gold ball, 
which, on the most violent pressure, could not be made to 
fill the internal cavity until the water inside was forced 
through the pores. 

There is reason also for that part of the arrangement 
which includes divisibility. We cannot conceive of a 
particle so small as not to be susceptible of division. 
And to that small particle must belong, not only divisi¬ 
bility, but the qualities of solidity, extension, and figure. 

$ 16. Of the secondary qualities of matter. 

The secondary qualities of bodies are of two kinds. 
(1.) Those which have relation to the perceiving and 
sentient mind; (2.) Those which have relation to other 
bodies. 

Under the first class are to be included sound, colour, 
taste, smell, hardness and softness, heat and cold, rough¬ 
ness and smoothness, &c. When we say of a body it 
has sound, we imply in this remark that it possesses 
qualities which will cause certain effects in the mind; 
the term sound being applicable, by the use of language, 
both to the qualities of the external object and to the ef¬ 
fect produced within. When we say it has colour, we 
always make a like reference to the mind, which beholds 
and contemplates it; and it is the same of the other sec¬ 
ondary qualities of this description. 

The other class of secondary qualities, (or properties, 
as they are not unfrequently termed,) those which have 
relation to other material bodies, are exceedingly various 
and numerous. The material substance which, in rela¬ 
tion to the mind, possesses the qualities of sound and col¬ 
our, may possess also, in relation to other bodies, the qual¬ 
ities or properties of malleability, fusibility, solubility, 
permeability, and the like. 

C 2 




30 


THE SENSES OF SMELL AND TASTE. 


CHAPTER HI. 

THE SENSES OF SMELL AND TASTE. 

$ 17. Nature and importance of the senses as a source of knowledge. 

It is desirable to keep clearly in mind the precise re- ] 
lation of the senses to the origin, progress, and amount 
of our knowledge, and to possess, if possible, a correct 
understanding of their true value. In a certain sense, the 
possession of the bodily organs with which we are fur¬ 
nished, is not essential and prerequisite to the possession 
of that knowledge which we are accustomed to ascribe 
to them. There is nothing unwarrantable and unreason¬ 
able in the supposition, that the knowledge which we 
now have by their means might have been possessed 
without their aid, either immediately, or in some way 
altogether different. Their use and indispensableness in 
the acquisition of a certain portion of what men are per¬ 
mitted to know, is a matter of arrangement and appoint- 
. ment on the part of our Maker. It is undoubtedly an 
evidence of the correctness of this remark, that the Su¬ 
preme Being has a full acquaintance with all those out¬ 
ward objects which present themselves to our notice, 
without being indebted to any material instrumentality 
and mediation. He perceives in another way, or, rather, 
all knowledge is inherent in, and originally and unalter¬ 
ably essential to himself. 

It is not so, as we have reason to believe, with any 
other beings, and certainly not w T ith man. Although a 
great part of his knowledge relates to material things, he 
is so formed, and his constitution is so ordered, that he is 
wholly dependent for it on the senses.—Deprive him of 
the ear, and all nature becomes silent; deprive him of 
the eye, and the sun and moon withdraw their light, and 
the universe becomes darkened; deprive him of the sense 
of touch, and he is then entirely insulated, and as much 
cut off from all communication with others as if he were 
the only being in existence. 


THE SENSES OF SMELL AND TASTE. 


31 


$ 18. Connexion of the brain with sensation and perception. 

(I.) It may perhaps be asked, Whether these views 
are intended to exclude the brain, as having a connexion 
with the senses in the results which are here ascribed to 
them ? And this inquiry leads us to observe, (what has 
been before alluded to,) that the brain is a prominent or¬ 
gan in the material part of the process of sensation and 
of external perception. The senses evidently cannot be 
separated from the nervous system. But the substance 
which is found in the nerves, excepting the coat in which 
it is enveloped, is the same as in the brain, being of the 
same soft and fibrous texture, and in continuity with it. 
As a general statement, when the brain has been in any 
way injured, the inward sensation, which would other¬ 
wise be distinct on the presence of an external body, is 
imperfect. Also, if the nerve be injured, or if its conti¬ 
nuity be disturbed by the pressure of a tight ligature, the 
effect is the same; a circumstance which goes to confirm 
the alleged identity of substance in the two. 

(II.) The brain, therefore, and whatever of the same 
substance is in continuity with it, particularly the nerves, 
constitutes the sensorial organ , which, in the subordinate 
organs of taste, smell, sight, touch, and hearing, presents 
itself under different modifications to external objects. On 
this organ, the sensorial , as thus explained, an impression 
must be made before there can be sensation and percep- 
tion. 

An impression, for instance, is made on that part of the 
sensorial organ called the auditory nerve, and a state of 
mind immediately succeeds which is variously termed, ac¬ 
cording to the view in which it is contemplated, either 
the sensation or the perception of sound. 

An impression is made by the rays of light on that ex¬ 
pansion of the optic nerve which forms what is called the 
retina of the eye, and the intellectual principle is imme¬ 
diately brought into that new position, which is termed 
visual perception or a perception of sight. 

The hand "is impressed on a body of an uneven and 
rough surface, and immediately consequent on this appli¬ 
cation and pressure is that state of mind which is termed 
a sensation or perception of roughness. 


32 


THE SENSES OF SMELL AND TASTE. 


§ 19. Order in which the senses are to be considered. 

In considering those ideas which we become possessed 
of by means of the senses, it is natural to begin with that 
sense which will cause us the least difficulty in the anal¬ 
ysis of its results; and to proceed to others successively, 
as we find them increasing in importance. It may not be 
altogether easy to apply this principle with strictness, but 
it will answer all the purpose for which it is here intro¬ 
duced, if we consider the senses in the following order, 
the smell, taste, hearing, touch, and sight. 

The mind holds a communication with the material 
world by means of the sense of smelling. All animal 
and vegetable bodies (and the same will probably hold 
good of other bodies, though generally in a less degree) 
are continually sending out effluvia of great subtilty. 
These small particles are rapidly and widely scattered 
abroad in the neighbourhood of the body from which they 
proceed. No sentient being can come within the circum¬ 
ference occupied by these continually moving and vola¬ 
tile atoms, without experiencing effects from it. 

§'20. Of the sense and sensations of smell. 

The medium through which we have the sensations 
and perceptions of smell, is the organ which is termed 
the olfactory nerve, situated principally in the nostrils, but 
partly in some continuous cavities. When some odorifer¬ 
ous particles, sent from external objects, affect this organ, 
there is a certain state of mind produced which varies 
with the nature of the odoriferous bodies. But we can no 
more infer from the sensation itself merely, that there ex¬ 
ists any necessary connexion between the smell and the 
external objects, than that there exists a connexion be¬ 
tween the emotions of joy and sorrow and the same ob¬ 
jects. It might indeed be suggested to us by the change 
in our mental states, that there must be some cause or an¬ 
tecedent to the change, but this suggestion would be far 
from implying the necessity of a corporeal cause. 

(II.) How then does it happen, that we are not merely 
sensible of the particular sensation, but refer it at once to 
some external object, to the rose, or the honeysuckle ? 
In answer it may be remarked, if we had always been 


THE SENSES OF SMELL AND TASTE. 


33 


destitute of the senses of sight and touch, this reference 
never could have been made; but, having been furnished 
with them by the beneficent Author of our being, we 
make this reference by experience. When we have seen 
the rose, when we have been near to it and handled it, we 
have uniformly been conscious of that state of mind which 
we term a sensation of smell. When we have come into 
the neighbourhood of the honeysuckle, or when it has 
been gathered and presented to us, we have been remind¬ 
ed of its fragrance. And thus, having learned by expe¬ 
rience that the presence of the odoriferous body is always 
attended with the sensations of smell, we form the habit 
of attributing the sensations to that body as their cause. 

§ 21. Of perceptions of smell in distinction from sensations. 

The mental reference spoken of in the last section is 
made with almost as much promptness as if it were ne¬ 
cessarily involved in the sensation itself. It is at least so 
rapid, that we find ourselves utterly unable to mark the 
mind’s progress from the inward feeling to the concep¬ 
tion of the outward cause. Nor is this inability surpri¬ 
sing, when we consider that we have repeated this pro¬ 
cess, both in this and in analogous cases, from our earli¬ 
est childhood. No object has ever been present to us 
capable of operating on the senses, where this process has 
not been gone through. The result of this long-contin¬ 
ued and frequent repetition has been an astonishing quick¬ 
ness in the mental action; so much so that the mind leaps 
outurard with the rapidity of lightning, to be present 
with, and to comprehend the causes of the feeling within. 

This view, it will be seen, helps in illustrating the na¬ 
ture of perception as distinguished from sensation. The 
outlines of that distinction have already been given ; and 
every one of the senses, as well as that now under consid¬ 
eration, will furnish proofs and illustrations of it. Ac¬ 
cordingly, when we are said to perceive the smell, or to 
have perceptions of the smell of a body, the rapid pro¬ 
cess which has been described is gone through, and the 
three things which were involved in the definition of Per¬ 
ception, already given, are supposed to exist; (1.) The 
presence of the odoriferous body and the affection of its 


34 


THE SENSES OF SMELL AND TASTE. 


appropriate organ; (2.) The change or sensation in the 
mind; and, (3.) The reference of the sensation to the ex¬ 
ternal body as its cause. 

§ 22. Of the sense and the sensations of taste. 

The tongue, which is covered with numerous nervous 
papillae, forms essentially the organ of taste, although 
the papillae are found scattered in other parts of the cavi¬ 
ty of the mouth. The application of any sapid body to 
this organ immediately causes in it a change or affec¬ 
tion ; and that is at once followed by a mental affection 
or a new state of the mind. In this way we have the sen¬ 
sations and perceptions, to which we give the names 
sweet, bitter, sour, acrid, &c. 

Having experienced the inward sensation, the affections 
of the mind are then referred by us to something external 
as their cause. We do not, however, always, nor even gen¬ 
erally, distinguish the qualities which constitute this cause 
by separate and appropriate designations; but express 
them by the names that are employed for the internal 
feeling, viz., sweetness, bitterness, sourness, &c. This 
reference of what is internally experienced to its external 
cause is very rapidly made; so that we at once say of 
one apple it is sweet, and of another it is sour. Still it 
is to be kept in mind, that, in point of fact, it is subse¬ 
quent, both in the order of nature and of time, to the 
mere sensation; although we may not be able, in conse- 
quence of its rapidity, to mark distinctly the progress of 
the mental action from the one to the other. As in the case 
of smells, which have already been remarked upon, the 
reference is the result of our former experience. We say 
of one body it is sweet, and of another it is sour, be¬ 
cause we have ever observed that the mental states in¬ 
dicated by those terms have always existed in connexion 
with the presence of those bodies. 

Whenever, therefore, we say of any bodies that they 
are sweet, bitter, sour, or apply any other epithets ex¬ 
pressive of sapid qualities, we mean to be understood to 
say that such bodies are fitted, in the constitution of 
things, to^cause in the mind the sensations of sweetness, 
bitterness, and sourness, or other sensations expressed by 



THE SENSE OF HEARING. 


35 


denominations of taste. Or, in other words, that they 
are the established antecedents of such mental states, as 
there is, further than this, no necessary connexion be- 
tween them. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE SENSE OF HEARING. 

§ 23. Organ of the sense of hearing. 

Following the order which has been proposed, we are 
next to consider the sense of hearing. And, in proceed¬ 
ing to the consideration of this subject, the remark is a 
very obvious one, that we should be unable to hear if we 
had not a sense designed for, and appropriate to, that re¬ 
sult. The air, when put strongly in motion, is distinctly 
perceived by the touch; but no impression which it could 
make on that sense would cause that internal feeling, 
which is termed a sensation of sound. Our Creator, 
therefore, has taken care that these sensations shall have 
their own organ; and it is obviously one of precise and 
elaborate workmanship. 

The ear is designedly planted in a position where, 
with the greatest ease, it takes cognizance of whatever is 
going on in the contiguous atmosphere. When we ex¬ 
amine it externally, we not only find it thus favourably 
situated, but presenting a hollowed and capacious sur¬ 
face, so formed as to grasp and gather in the undula¬ 
tions of air, continually floating and in motion around it 
Without, however, delaying to give a minute description 
of the internal construction of the ear, which belongs 
rather to the physiologist, it will answer our present pur¬ 
pose merely to add, that these undulations are conducted 
by it through various windings, till they are brought in a 
state of concentration, as it were, against the membrane 
called the tympanum. —It is worthy of notice, that on the 
internal surface of this membrane (the drum, as it is pop¬ 
ularly called) there is a nerve spread out in a manner 
analogous to the expansion of the optic nerve at the hot- 




36 


THE SENSE OF HEARING. 


tom of the eye. Whether this nervous expansion be in¬ 
dispensably necessary to the result or not, it is certain 
that a pressure upon or affection of the tympanum by the 
external air, is followed by a new state of the mind, 
known as the sensation or perception of sound. 

§ 24. Varieties of the sensation of sound. 

The sensations which we thus become possessed of by 
the hearing are far more numerous than the words and 
the forms of speech, having relation to them in different 
languages, would lead us to suppose. It will help to il¬ 
lustrate this subject if we recur a moment to the sense 
of taste. The remark has somewhere been made to this 
effect, and probably with much truth, that if a person 
were to examine five hundred different wines, he would 
hardly find two of them of precisely the same flavour. 
The diversity is almost endless, although there is no lan¬ 
guage which distinguishes each variety of taste by a sep- 1 
arate name. It is the same in respect to the sensations I 
of sound. These sensations exhibit the greatest variety, 
although their differences are too minute to be separately 
and distinctly represented by language. 

These views will appear the less objectionable when I 
it is remembered that sounds differ from each other both 
in the tone and in the strength of the tone. It is remark- ! 
ed by Dr. Reid, that five hundred variations of tone may 
be perceived by the ear, also an equal number of varia¬ 
tions in the strength of the tone; making, as he express¬ 
ly informs us, by a combination of the tones and of the 
degrees of strength, more than twenty thousand simple 
sounds, differing either in tone or strength. 

In a perfect tone, a great many undulations of elastic 
air are required, which must be of equal duration and 
extent, and follow each other with perfect regularity. 
Each undulation is made up of the advance and retreat 
of innumerable particles, whose motions are all uniform 
in direction, force, and time. Accordingly, there will 
be varieties also and shades of difference in the same 
tone, arising from the position and manner of striking the 
sonorous body, from the constitution of the elastic medi¬ 
um, and from the state of the organ of hearing. 




THE SENSE OF HEARING. 


37 

Different instruments, such as a flute, a violin, and a 
bass-viol, may all sound the same tone, and yet he easily 
distinguishable. A considerable number of human voices 
. may sound the same note, and with equal strength, and 
yet there will be some difference. The same voice, 
while it maintains the proper distinctions of sound, may 
yet be varied many ways by sickness or health, youth or 
age, and other alterations in our bodily condition to 
1 which we are incident. 

$ 25. Manner in which we learn the place of sounds. 

It is a fact particularly worthy of notice in respect to 
sounds, that we should not know, previous to all experi¬ 
ence on the subject, whether a sound came from the right 
, or left, from above or below, from a smaller or greater 
| distance. And this will appear the less surprising when 
we remember that the undulations of air are always 
changed from their original direction by the channels and 
the windings of the ear before they strike the tympanum. 
Abundant facts confirm this statement. 

Dr. Reid mentions, that once, as he was lying in bed, 
having been put into a fright, he heard his own heart beat. 
He took it to be some one knocking at the door, and 
arose and opened the door oftener than once before he 
discovered that the sound was in his own breast. Some 
traveller has related that, when he first heard the roaring 
of a lion in a desert wilderness, not seeing the animal, 
he did not know on what side to apprehend danger, as 
the sound seemed to him to proceed from the ground, and 
to enclose a circle, of which he and his companions stood 
in the centre. 

It is by custom or experience that we learn to distin- 
1! guish the place of things, and, in some measure also, their 
nature, by means of their sound. It is thus that we learn 
that one noise is in a contiguous room, that another is 
above our heads, and another is in the street. And what 
seems to be an evidence of this is, that when we are in a 
strange place, after all our experience, we very frequent¬ 
ly find ourselves mistaken in these respects. 

If a man born deaf were suddenly made to hear, he 
would probably consider his first sensations of sound as 





38 


THE SENSE OF TOUCH. 


originating wholly within himself. But in process- of 
time we learn not only to refer the origin of sounds to' a 
position above or below, to the right or left; but to con-1 
nect each particular sound with a particular external 
cause, referring one to a bell as its appropriate external 1 
cause, another to a flute, another to a trumpet. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE SENSE OF TOUCH. 

$ 26. Of the sense of touch in general and its sensations. 

We are next to consider the sense of touch. The 
principal organ of this sense is the hand, although it is not 
limited to that part of our frame, but is diffused over the 
whole body. The hand principally arrests our attention 
as the organ of this sense, because, being furnished with \ 
various articulations, it is easily moveable by the muscles, i 
and can readily adapt itself to the various changes of 
form in the objects to which it is applied. 

The senses, which have hitherto been examined, are 
more simple and uniform in their results than that of the 
touch. By the ear we merely possess that sensation 
which we denominate hearing ; we have the knowledge 
of sounds, and that is all. By the palate we acquire a 
knowledge of tastes, and by the sense of smelling we 
become acquainted with the odours of bodies. The 
knowledge which is directly acquired by all these senses 
is limited to the qualities which have been mentioned. 
By the sense of touch, on the contrary, we become ac- 
quainted not with one merely, but with a variety of quali- j 
ties, such as the following, heat and cold, hardness and 
softness, roughness and smoothness, solidity or resistance, 
extension, and figure; and, in particular, it gives occasion 
for the origin of the antecedent and more general notion 
of externality. 

$ 27. Idea of externality suggested in connexion with the touch. 

If man were possessed of the sense of smell alone, it 
would be found that the earliest elements of his knowl- 






THE SENSE OF TOUCH. 


39 


edge consisted exclusively in sensations of odours. Ac¬ 
cording, however, as these sensations were agreeable or 
disagreeable, he would acquire the additional ideas of 
pleasure and pain. And having experienced pleasure 
and pain, we may suppose that this would subsequently 
give rise both to the feelings and the abstract concep¬ 
tions of desire and aversion. But if he had no other 
sense, all these feelings would seem to him to be internal, 
not only in their experience, but their origin; in other 
words, to be mere emanations from the soul itself ; and 
he would be incapable of referring them to an external 
cause.—If he were possessed of the sense of hearing 
alone, the result would be similar; his existence would 
then seem to consist essentially of sounds, as in the other 
case it would be made up of odours; nor, indeed, by the 
aid of merely both these senses combined would he be 
able to form an idea of externality or outwardness. 

But this idea is a most important one; it is the con¬ 
necting thought which introduces us to an acquaintance 
with a new form of existence, different from that inte¬ 
rior existence which we variously call by the names 
spirit, mind, or soul. This idea first arises in the mind, 
although it is not directly addressed to that sense, by 
means of the touch. 

There is no question that the other senses might of 
themselves furnish a basis of considerable extent for the 
mental action. By means of their aid alone, such a de- 
velopement of the mind might take place, that we could 
perceive, think, compare, abstract, reason, and will. And 
although, under such circumstances, everything would 
seem to us to be internal, yet we should probably find 
the mental action unembarrassed and easy, and a source 
of pleasure. But after a time we decide to move the 
limbs in a particular direction, and to press the hand or 
some other part of the body through some hard and re¬ 
sisting substance. It is when we attempt to do anything 
of this kind, which calls the sense of touch into action, 
that we find the wonted series of thoughts disturbed, the 
desire checked, and the volition counteracted. It is 
probably at this precise position of the mind, with scarce¬ 
ly the interval of a momentary pause of wonder, that 


40 


THE SENSE OF TOUCH. 


there arises vividly in the soul a new perception, a new 
thought, which we call the idea of externality or outness. 
It is the sense of touch which impinges upon the obsta¬ 
cle that stands in our way ; and no other sense admits 
of this peculiar application. It is thus the means of par¬ 
tially disturbing the previous connexion and tendency of 
thought, and of giving occasion for the rise of the new 
idea which is under consideration. And this idea, called 
into existence under these circumstances, becomes associ¬ 
ated with all those notions which we subsequently form 
of matter.—It may be of some importance to add here, 
that we shall have occasion to refer to this idea again 
under the head of Original Suggestion. It is to be re¬ 
membered, that externality is not a direct object of the 
touch, as extension and hardness are, but that the tactual 
sense simply furnishes the occasion on which it is formed. 

§ 28. Origin of the notion of extension, and of form or figure. 

The idea of extension has its origin by means of the 
sense of touch. When the touch is applied to bodies, 
where in the intermediate parts there is a continuity of 
the same substance, we necessarily form that notion. It 
is not, however, to be imagined that Extension, as it ex¬ 
ists outwardly, and the corresponding notion in the mind, 
actually resemble each other. So far from any imitation 
and copying from one to the other, or resemblance in any 
way, there is a radical and utter diversity. As to out¬ 
ward, material extension, it is not necessary to attend to 
it here; our business at present is with the corresponding 
inward feeling. Nor will it be necessary to delay even 
upon that; the more we multiply words upon it, the more 
obscure it becomes. As it is a simple idea, we cannot re¬ 
solve it into others, and in that way make it clearer by 
defining it. We must refer in this case, as in others like 
it, to each one’s personal experience. It will be better 
understood in that way than by any form of words. 

The notion of extension is intimately connected with, 
and may be considered in some sort the foundation of, 
that of the form or figure of bodies.—Dr. Brown some¬ 
where calls the Form of bodies their relation to each other 
In space. This is thought to afford matter for reflection ,* 


THE SENSE OF TOUCH. 


41 


but when we consider that space, whatever it may be ob¬ 
jectively or outwardly, exists in the mind as a simple no¬ 
tion, and that the particular relation here spoken of is not 
pointed out, the remark may not be found to throw much 
light on the subject. Still we do not suppose that any 
one is ignorant of what form is; men must be supposed 
to know that, if they are thought to know anything. All 
that is meant to be asserted here is, that the idea of ex¬ 
tension is antecedent, in the order of nature, to that of 
form; and that the latter could not exist without the 
other; but that both, nevertheless, are simple, and both 
are to be ascribed to the sense of touch. 

§ 29. On the sensations of heat and cold. 

Among the states of mind which are usually classed 
with the intimations of the sense under consideration, are 
those which are connected with changes in the tempera¬ 
ture of our bodies. Some writers, it is true, have been 
inclined to dissent from this arrangement, and have haz¬ 
arded an opinion that they ought not to be ascribed to 
the sense of touch ; but Dr. Reid, on the contrary, who 
gave to our sensations the most careful and patient atten¬ 
tion, has decidedly assigned to them this origin. Among 
other remarks, he has expressed himself on this subject to 
this effect 

“ The words heat and cold,” he remarks, (Inquiry into 
the Human Mind, ch. v.,) “ have each of them two signi¬ 
fications ; they sometimes signify certain sensations of the 
mind, which pan have no existence when they are not 
felt, nor can exist anywhere but in the mind or sentient 
being; but more frequently they signify a quality in bod¬ 
ies, which, by the laws of nature, occasions the sensations 
of , heat and cold in us; a quality which, though con¬ 
nected by custom so closely with the sensation that we 
cannot without difficulty separate them, yet hath not 
the least resemblance to it, and may continue to exist 
when there is no sensation at all. 

“ The sensations of heat and cold are perfectly known, 
for they neither are, nor can be, anything else than what 
we feel them to be; but the qualities in bodies, which we 
call heat and cold , are unknown. They are only conceiv- 
D 2 



42 


THE SENSE OF TOUCH. 


ed by us as unknown causes or occasions of the sensations, 
to which we give the same names. But though common 
sense says nothing of the nature of the qualities, it plainly 
indicates the existence of them; and to deny that there 
can be heat and cold when they are not felt, is an ab¬ 
surdity too gross to merit confutation. For what could 
be more absurd than to say that the thermometer cannot 
rise or fall unless some person be present, or that the coast 
of Guinea would be as cold as Nova Zembla if it had no 
inhabitants. 

“ It is the business of philosophers to investigate, by 
proper experiments and induction, what heat and cold 
are in bodies. And whether they make heat a particular 
element diffused through nature, and accumulated in the 
heated body, or whether they make it a certain vibration 
of the parts of the heated body; whether they determine 
that heat and cold are contrary qualities, as the sensations 
undoubtedly are contrary, or that heat only is a quality, 
and cold its privation; these questions are within the 
province of philosophy; for common sense says nothing 
on the one side or the other. 

“ But, whatever be the nature of that quality in bodies j 
which we call heat , we certainly know this, that it can- j 
not in the least resemble the sensation of heat. It is no I 
less absurd to suppose a likeness between the sensation 
and the quality, than it would be to suppose that the 
pain of the gout resembles a square or a triangle. The 


simplest man that hath common sense does not imagine 
the sensation of heat, or anything that resembles that 
sensation, to be in the fire. He only imagines that there 
is something in the fire which makes him and other sen- I 
tient beings feel heat. Yet as the name of heat , in com- 4 
mon language, more frequently and more properly signi¬ 
fies this unknown something in the fire than the sensa¬ 
tion occasioned by it, he justly laughs at the philosopher 
who denies that there is any heat in the fire, and thinks 
that he speaks contrary to common sense. 5 ’ 


§ 30. Of the sensations of hardness and softness. 

“ Let us next consider, 55 continues the same writer, 
“hardness and softness; by which words we always 



THE SENSE OF TOUCH. 43 

understand’ real properties or qualities of bodies, of which 
we have a distinct conception. 

“ When the parts of a body adhere so firmly that it 
cannot easily be made to change its figure, we call 
it hard; when its parts are easily displaced, we call it 
soft. This is the notion which all mankind have of hard¬ 
ness and softness: they, are neither sensations nor like 
any sensation ; they were real qualities before they were 
perceived by touch, and continue to be so when they are 
not perceived: for if any man will affirm that diamonds 
were not hard till they were handled, who would reason 
with him 1 

“ There is, no doubt, a sensation by which we perceive 
a body to be hard or soft. This sensation of hardness may 
easily be had by pressing one’s hand against a table, and 
attending to the feeling that ensues, setting aside as much 
as possible all thought of the table and its qualities, or of 
any external thing. But it is one thing to have the sen¬ 
sation, and another to attend to it and make it a distinct 
object of reflection. The first is very easy; the last, in 
most cases, extremely difficult. 

“We are so accustomed to use the sensation as a sign, 
and to pass immediately to the hardness signified, that, as 
far as appears, it was never made an object of thought, 
either by the vulgar or by philosophers; nor has it a 
name in any language. There is no sensation more dis¬ 
tinct or more fre(}uent; yet it is never attended to, but 
passes through the mind instantaneously, and serves only 
to introduce that quality in bodies which, by a law of our 
constitution, it suggests. 

“ There are, indeed, some cases wherein it is no difficult 
matter to attend to the sensation occasioned by the hard¬ 
ness of a body ; for instance, when it is so violent as to 
occasion considerable pain : then nature calls upon us to 
attend to it; and then we acknowledge that it is a mere 
sensation, and can only be in a sentient being. If a man 
Tuns his head with violence against a pillar, I appeal to 
him whether the pain he feels resembles the hardness of 
the stone; or if he can conceive anything like what he 
feels to be in an inanimate piece of matter. 

“ The attention of the mind is here entirely turned to- 



44 


THE SENSE OF TOUCH. 


wards the painful feeling; and, to speak in the common 
language of mankind, he feels nothing in the stone, but 
feels a violent pain in his head. It is quite otherwise 
when he leans his head gently against the pillar; for then 
he will tell you that he feels nothing in his head, but feels 
hardness in the stone. Hath he not a sensation in this 
case as well as in the other ? Undoubtedly he hath; 
but it is a sensation which nature intended only as a sign 
of something in the stone; and, accordingly, he instant¬ 
ly fixes his attention upon the thing signified; and can¬ 
not, without great difficulty, attend so much to the sen¬ 
sation as to be persuaded that there is any such thing 
distinct from the hardness it signifies. 

“ But however difficult it may be to attend to this fugi¬ 
tive sensation, to stop its rapid progress, and to disjoin it 
from the external quality of hardness, in whose shadow 
it is apt immediately to hide itself: this is what a philos¬ 
opher by pains and practice must attain, otherwise it 
will be impossible for him to reason justly upon this sub¬ 
ject, or even to understand what is here advanced. For 
the last appeal, in subjects of this nature, must be to what 
a man feels and perceives in his own mind.” 

$ 31. Of certain indefinite feelings sometimes ascribed to the touch. 

In connexion with these views on the sensations of 
touch, it is proper to remark, that certain feelings have 
been ascribed to that sense, which are probably of a char¬ 
acter too indefinite to admit of a positive and undoubted 
classification. Although they clearly have their place in 
the general arrangement which has been laid down, with 
the states of mind which we are now considering; that 
is to say, are rather of an external and material, than of 
an internal origin; still they do not so evidently admit of 
an assignment to a particular sense. Those sensations to 
which we now refer, (if it be proper to use that term in 
application to them,) appear to have their origin in the 
human system considered as a whole, made up of bones, 
flesh, muscles, the senses, &c., rather than to be suscep¬ 
tible of being traced to any particular part. Of this de¬ 
scription are the feelings expressed by the terms uneasi¬ 
ness, weariness, weakness, sickness, and those of an op¬ 
posite character, as ease, hilarity, health, vigour, &c. 




THE SENSE OF TOUCH. 


45 


Similar views will be found to apply, in part at least, 
to the sensations which we express by the terms hunger 
and thirst. These appear to be complex in their nature, 
including a feeling of uneasiness, combined with a desire 
to relieve that uneasiness. When we say that these views 
will apply in part to hunger and thirst, the design is to 
limit the application of them to the element of uneasi¬ 
ness. This elementary feeling undoubtedly has its origin 
in the bodily system, and therefore comes in this case 
under the general class of notions of an external origin; 
but still it is not easy to say that it should be arranged 
with our tactual feelings, which has sometimes been done. 
Every one must be conscious, it is thought, that the feel¬ 
ing of hunger does not greatly resemble the sensations of 
hardness and softness, roughness or smoothness, or other 
sensations which are usually ascribed to the touch.— 
The cause of that peculiar state of the nerves of the stom¬ 
ach, which is antecedent to the uneasy feeling involved 
in what is termed hunger, has been a subject of differ¬ 
ence of opinion, and does not appear to be well under¬ 
stood. If we were fully acquainted with this we might 
perhaps be less at a loss where to arrange the feeling in 
question. 

() 32. Relation between the sensation and what is outwardly signified. 

We here return a moment to the subject of the relation 
between the internal sensation and the outward object; 
and again repeat, that the mental state and the corre¬ 
sponding outward object are altogether diverse. This 
view holds good in the case of the secondary, as well as 
of the primary qualities of matter. Whether we speak of 
extension, or resistance, or heat, or colour, or roughness, 
there are, in all cases alike, two things, the internal affec¬ 
tion and the outward quality; but they are utterly distinct, 
totally without likeness to each other. But how it happens 
that one thing which is totally different from another can 
nevertheless give us a knowledge of that from which it 
differs, it would be a waste of time to attempt to explain. 
Our knowledge is undoubtedly limited to the mere fact. 

This is one those of difficult but decisive points in 
MENTAL philosophy, of which it is essential to possess a 


4G 


THE SENSE OF SIGHT. 


precise and correct understanding. The letters which 
cover over the page of a book are a very different thing 
from the thought and the combinations of thought which 
they stand for. The accountant’s columns of numerals are 
not identical with the quantities and their relations which 
they represent. And so in regard to the mind ; all its 
acts are of one kind, and what they stand for is of an¬ 
other. The mind, in all its feelings and operations, is 
governed by its own laws, and characterizes its efforts by 
the essential elements of its own nature. Nothing which 
is seen or heard, nothing which is the subject of taste, or 
touch or any other sense, nothing material, which can be 
imagined to exist in any place or in any form, can furnish 
the least positive disclosure either of its intrinsic nature 
or of the mode of its action. 

What, then, is the relation between the sensation and 
the outward object, between the perception and the thing 
perceived ? Evidently that of the sign and the thing sig¬ 
nified. And' as, in a multitude of cases, the sign may 
give a knowledge of its objects without any other grounds 
of such knowledge than mere institution or appointment, 
so it is in this. The mind, maintaining its appropriate 
action, and utterly rejecting the intervention of all images 
and visible representations, except what are outward and 
material, and totally distinct from itself both in place and 
nature, is, notwithstanding, susceptible of the knowledge 
of things exterior, and can form an acquaintance with the 
universe of matter. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE SENSE OF SIGHT. 

$ 33. Of the organ of sight, and the uses or benefits of that sense. 

Of those instruments of external perception with which 
a benevolent Providence has favoured us, a high rank 
must be given to the sense‘of seeing. If we were re¬ 
stricted in the process of acquiring knowledge to the in¬ 
formations of the touch merely, how many embarrassments 




THE SENSE OF SIGHT. 


47 


Would attend our progress, and how slow it would prove! 
Having never possessed sight, it would be many years 
before the most acute and active person could form an 
idea of a mountain or even of a large edifice. But by 
the additional help of the sense of seeing, he not only 
observes the figure of large buildings, but is in a moment 
possessed of all the beauties of a wide and variegated 
landscape. 

The organ of this sense is the eye. On a slight ex¬ 
amination, the eye is found to be a sort of telescope, hav¬ 
ing its distinct parts, and discovering throughout the most 
exquisite construction. The medium on which this organ 
acts are rays of light, everywhere diffused, and always 
advancing, if they meet with no opposition, in direct 
lines. The eye, like all the other senses, not only receives 
externally the medium on which it acts, but carries the 
rays of light into itself; and on principles purely scien¬ 
tific, refracts and combines them anew. 

It does not, however, fall within our plan to give a mi¬ 
nute description of the eye, which belongs rather to the 
physiologist; but such a description, with the statement 
of the uses of the different parts of the organ, must be, to 
a candid and reflecting mind, a most powerful argument 
in proof of the existence and goodness of the Supreme 
Being, How wonderful, among other things, is the 
adaptation of the rays of light to the eye! If these rays 
were not of a texture extremely small, they would cause 
much pain to the organ of vision, into which they so 
rapidly pass. If they were not capable of exciting 
within us the sensations of colour, we should be deprived 
of much of that high satisfaction which we now take in 
beholding surrounding objects; showing forth, wherever 
they are to be found, the greatest variety and the utmost 
richness of tints. 

4 34. Statement of the mode or process in visual perception. 

In the process of vision, the rays of light, coming from 
various objects and in various directions, strike in the first 
place on the pellucid or transparent part of the ball of 
the eye. . 

If they were to continue passing on precisely in the 


48 


THE SENSE OF SIGHT, 


same direction, they would produce merely one mingled 
and indistinct expanse of colour. In their progress, how¬ 
ever, through the crystalline humour, they are refracted 
or bent from their former direction, and are distributed to 
certain focal points on the retina, which is a white, fibrous 
expansion of the optic nerve. 

The rays of light, coming from objects in the field of 
vision, whether it be more or less extensive, as soon as 
they have been distributed on their distinct portions of the 
retina, and have formed an image there, are immediately 
followed by the sensation or perception which is termed 
sight. The image which is thus pictured on the retina 
is the last step which we are able to designate in the ma¬ 
terial part of the process in visual perception ; the men¬ 
tal state follows; but it is not in our power to trace, even 
in the smallest degree, any physical connexion between 
the optical image and the corresponding state of the 
mind.—All that we can say in this case is, that we sup¬ 
pose them to hold to each other the relation of antecedent 
and consequent by an ultimate law of our constitution. 

$ 35. Of the original and acquired perceptions of sight. 

In speaking of those sensations and perceptions, the 
origin of which is generally attributed to the sense of 
sight, it is necessary to make a distinction between those 
which are original and those which are acquired. No¬ 
thing is properly original with the sense of sight but the 
sensations of colour, such as red, blue, yellow. These 
sensations (or perceptions, as they are otherwise called, 
when the internal feeling is combined with a reference to 
the external cause) are exceedingly numerous. In this 
respect, the intimations of the sense of sight stand on the 
same footing with those of taste and hearing; although 
distinctive names, in consequence of the difficulty of ac¬ 
curately separating and drawing the line between each, 
are given only in a few cases. All the sensations of 
colour are original with the sight, and are not to be as¬ 
cribed to any other sense. 

A part, however, of that knowledge, which we attrib¬ 
ute to the sight, and which has the appearance of being 
immediate and original in that sense, is not so. Some of* 


THE SENSE OF SIGHT. 


49 


its alleged perceptions are properly the results of sensa¬ 
tions, combined not only with the usual reference to an 
external cause, but with various other acts of the judg¬ 
ment. In some cases the combination of the acts of the 
judgment with the visual sensation is carried so far, that 
| there is a sort of transfer to the sight of the knowledge 
which has been obtained from some other source. And 
not unfrequently, in consequence of a long and tenacious 
association, we are apt to look upon the knowledge thus 
acquired as truly original in the seeing power. This will 
suffice, perhaps, as a statement of the general fact, while 
the brief examination of a few instances will help to the 
more thorough understanding of those acquired percep¬ 
tions of the sight which are here referred to. 

$ 36. The idea of extension not originally from sight. 

It is well known that there is nothing more common 
than for a person to say, that he sees the length or breadth 
of any external object; that he sees its extent, &c. These 
expressions appear to imply (and undoubtedly are so un¬ 
derstood) that extension is a direct object of sight. There 
is no question that such is the common sentiment, viz., 
that the outlines and surface which bodies permanently 
expand and present to the view, are truly seen. An 
opinion different from this might even incur the charge 
of great absurdity. 

But, properly, the notion of extension, as we have al¬ 
ready seen, has its origin in the sense of touch. Being a 
simple and elementary thought, it is not susceptible of 
definition; nor, when we consider extension as existing 
outwardly and materially, can we make it a matter of 
description without running into the confusion of using 
synonymous words. But, whatever it is, (and certainly 
there can be neither ignorance nor disagreement on that 
point, however much language may fail of conveying our 
ideas,) the knowledge of it is not to be ascribed original¬ 
ly to the sight. 

The notion of extension is closely connected with ex¬ 
ternality. It is not possible to form the idea of extension 
from mere consciousness, or a reflection on what takes 
*)lace within us. But making a muscular effort, and thus 




50 


THE SENSE OF SIGHT. 


applying the touch to some resisting body, we first have 
the notion of outness ; and either from the same applica¬ 
tion of that sense, or when we have repeated it continu¬ 
ously on the same surface, we have the additional notion 
of its being extended or spread out. If a man were 
fixed immoveably in one place, capable of smelling, tast¬ 
ing, hearing, and seeing, but without tactual impressions 
originating from a resisting body, he would never possess 
a knowledge of either. Having first gained that knowl¬ 
edge from the touch in the way just mentioned, he learns 
in time what appearance extended bodies (which are, of 
course, coloured bodies) make to the eye. At a very 
early period, having ascertained that all coloured bodies 
are spread out or extended, he invariably associates the 
idea of extension with that coloured appearance. Hence 
he virtually and practically transfers the knowledge ob¬ 
tained by one sense to another; and even after a time 
imagines extension to be a direct object of sight, when, 
in fact, what is seen is only a sign of it, and merely sug¬ 
gests it. An affection of the sense of touch is the true 
and original occasion of the origin of this notion; and it 
becomes an idea of sight only by acquisition or transfer¬ 
ence. 

$ 37. Of the knowledge of the figure of bodies by the sight. 

Views similar to those which have been already ad¬ 
vanced will evidently apply to the figure of bodies. We 
acquire a knowledge of the figure or form of bodies 
originally by the sense of touch. But it cannot be doubt¬ 
ed that this knowledge is often confidently attributed to 
the sense of sight as well as the touch. Although there 
is reason to believe that men labour under a mistake in 
this, it is not strange, when we trace back our mental 
history to.its earlier periods, that such a misapprehension 
should exist. 

A solid body presents to the eye nothing but a certain 
disposition of colours and light. We may imagine our¬ 
selves to see the prominences or cavities in such bodies, 
when in truth we only see the light or the shade occa¬ 
sioned by them. This light and shade, however, we 
learn by experience to consider as the sign of a certain 


THE SENSE OF SIGHT. 


51 


Solid figure.—A proof of the truth of this statement is, 
that a painter, by carefully imitating the distribution of 
light and shade which he sees in objects, will make his 
work very naturally and exactly represent, not only the 
general outline of a body, but its prominences, depres¬ 
sions, and other irregularities. And yet his delineation, 
which, by the distribution of light and shade, gives such 
various representations, is on a smooth and plain surface. 

$ 38. Illustration of the subject from the blind. 

It was a problem submitted by Mr. Molyneux to Mr. 
Locke, whether a blind man, who has learned the differ¬ 
ence between a cube and a sphere by the touch, can, on 
being suddenly restored to sight, distinguish between 
them, and tell which is the sphere and which is the cube, 
by the aid of what may be called his new sense merely ? 
And the answer of Mr. Locke was, in agreement with the 
opinion of Molyneux himself, that he cannot. The blind 
man knows what impressions the cube and sphere make 
on the organ of touch , and by that sense is able to dis¬ 
tinguish between them; but, as he is ignorant what im¬ 
pression they will make on the organ of sight, he is not 
able, by the latter sense alone, to tell which is the round 
body and which is the cubic. 

It was remarked that solid bodies present to the eye 
nothing but a certain disposition of light and colours.—It 
seems to follow from this, that the first idea which will be 
conveyed to the mind on seeing a globe, will be that of 
a circle variously shadowed with different degrees of 
light. This imperfect idea is corrected in this way. 
Combining the suggestions of the sense of touch with 
those of sfght, we learn by greater experience what kind 
of appearance solid, convex bodies will make to us. That 
appearance becomes to the mind the sign of the presence 
of a globe; so that we have an idea of a round body by 
a very rapid mental correction, whereas the notion first 
conveyed to the mind is truly that of a plane, circular 
surface, on which there is a variety in the dispositions of 
light and shade. It is an evidence of the correctness of 
this statement, that in paintings, plane surfaces, variously 
shaded, represent convex bodies, and with great truth and 
exactness. 




52 


THE SENSE OF SIGHT. 


It appears, then, that extension and figure are originally 
perceived, not by sight, but by touch. We do not judge 
of them by sight until we have learned by our experi¬ 
ence that certain visible appearances always accompany 
and signify the existence of extension and of figure. This 
knowledge we acquire at a very early period in life ; so 
much so, that we lose, in a great measure, the memory ) 
both of its commencement and progress. 

$ 39. Measurements of magnitude by the eye. 

What has been said naturally leads us to the consid¬ 
eration of magnitude. This is a general term for Exten¬ 
sion, when we conceive of it not only as limited or bound¬ 
ed, but as related to, and compared with, other objects. 
Although we make use of the eye in judging of it, it is to 
be kept in mind that the knowledge of magnitude is not 
an original intimation of the sight, but is at first acquired 
by the aid of touch. So well known is this, that it has 
been common to consider Magnitude under the two heads 
of tangible or real, and visible or apparent; the tangible 
magnitude being always the same, but the visible varying 
with the distance of the object. A man of six feet stature 
is always that height, whether he be a mile distant, or 
half a mile, or near at hand ; the change of place making 
no change in his real or tangible magnitude. But the 
visible or apparent magnitude of this man may be six feet 
or two feet, as we view him present with us and immedi¬ 
ately in our neighbourhood, or at two miles’ distance; for ! 
his magnitude appears to our eye greater or less, accord¬ 
ing as he is more or less removed. 

In support of the doctrine that the knowledge of mag- 
nitude is not an original intimation of the sight, but is at 
first acquired by the aid of touch, we may remark, that, 
in judging of magnitude by the sight, we are much influ¬ 
enced, not merely by the visual perception, but particu¬ 
larly by comparison with other objects, the size of which 
is known or supposed to be known. “ I remember once,” 
says Dr. Abercrombie (Intellectual Powers, pt. ii., sect. L), 

“ having occasion, to pass along Ludgate Hill when the 
great door of St. Paul’s was open, and several persons 
were standing in it. They appeared to be very little 



THE SENSE OF SIGHT. 


53 


children; but, on coming up to them, were found to be 
full-grown persons. In the mental process which here 
took place, the door had been assumed as a known mag¬ 
nitude, and the other objects judged of by it. Had I at¬ 
tended to the door being much larger than any door that 
one is in the habit of seeing, the mind would have made 
allowance for the apparent size of the persons; and, on 
the other hand, had these been known to be full-grown 
persons, a judgment would have been formed of the size 
of the door.” 


$ 40. Of objects seen in a mist. 


In accordance with the above-mentioned principle, it 
happens that objects seen by a person in a mist seem 
larger than life. Their faint appearance rapidly conveys 
to the mind the idea of being considerably removed, al¬ 
though they are actually near to us. And the mind im¬ 
mediately draws the conclusion, (so rapidly as to seem a 
simple and original perception,) that the object having 
the same visible or apparent magnitude, and yet supposed 
to be at a considerable distance, is greater than other ob¬ 
jects of the same class. So that it is chiefly the view of 
the mind, a law or habit of the intellect, which, in this 
particular case, gives a fictitious expansion to bodies; 
although it is possible that the result may in part be at¬ 
tributed to a difference in the refraction of the rays of 
light, caused by their passing through a denser and less 
uniform medium than usual. 


§ 41. Of the sun and moon when seen in the horizon. 

These remarks naturally remind us of the well-known 
fact, that the sun and moon seem larger in the horizon 
- than in the meridian. Three reasons may be given for this 
appearance; and perhaps ordinarily they are combined 
together.—(1.) The horizon may seem more distant than 
the zenith, in consequence of intervening objects. We 
measure the distance of objects in part by means of those 
that are scattered along between, and any expanse of 
surface, where there are no such intervening objects, ap¬ 
pears to us of less extent than it actually is. Now if the 
rays of light form precisely the same image in the eye, 
£ 2 





54 


THE SENSE OF SIGHT. 


but the source of them is supposed to be further off in the 
horizon than in the zenith, such have been our mental 
habits, that the object in the horizon will probably appear 
the largest.—(2.) Another reason of the enlarged ap¬ 
pearance of the sun and moon in the horizon is, that the 
rays from them fall on the body of the atmosphere ob¬ 
liquely, and, of course, are reflected downward towards 
the beholder, and subtend a larger angle at his eye. 
Hence, as we always see objects in the direction of the 
ray just before it enters the eye, if we follow the rays 
back in the precise direction of their approach, they will 
present to the eye the outlines of a larger object as their 
source than they would if they had not been refracted.—« 
Also, when the atmosphere is not clear, but masses of va¬ 
pour exist in it, the refraction is increased and the object 
proportionally enlarged.—(3.) The sun and moon ap¬ 
pear enlarged when other objects of considerable dimen¬ 
sions, but so distant as to subtend a very small angle at 
the eye, are seen in the same direction or in the moment : 
of passing their disk, such as distant trees in the hori¬ 
zon, or ships far off at sea. These objects, though small 
in the eye or in their visual appearance, are yet, in con¬ 
sequence cf our previous knowledge, enlarged in our 
conceptions of them. And this conceptive enlargement 
communicates itself, by a sort of mental illusion, to oth¬ 
er objects with which they seem to come in contact. 

§ 42. Of the estimation of distances by sight. 

We are next led to the consideration of distances as 
made known and ascertained by the sight. By the dis¬ 
tance of objects, when we use the term in reference to 
ourselves, we mean the space which is interposed between 
those objects and our own position. It might be object¬ 
ed, that space interposed is only a synonymous expression 
for the thing to be defined. Nevertheless, no one can be 
supposed to be ignorant of what is meant. Even blind 
men have a notion of distance, and can measure it by the 
touch, or by walking forward until they meet the distant j 
object. 

The perception of distance by the sight is an acquired 
and not an original perception; although the latter was 
universally supposed to be the fact until comparatively a 
recent period. 




THE SENSE OF SIGHT* 


55 


All objects in the first instance appear to touch the 
eye; but our experience has corrected so many of the 
representations of the senses, before the period which we 
are yet able to retrace by the memory, that we cannot 
prove this by a reference to our own childhood and infan¬ 
cy. It appears, however, from the statement of the ca¬ 
ses of persons born blind on the sudden restoration of 
their sight.—“ When he first saw,” says Cheselden, the 
anatomist, when giving an account of a young man whom 
he had restored to sight by couching for the cataract, “ he 
was so far from making any judgment about distance, 
that he thought all objects touched his eye, as he express¬ 
ed it, as what he felt did his skin; and thought no ob¬ 
jects so agreeable as those which were smooth and regu¬ 
lar, although he could form no judgment of their shape, 
or guess what it was in any object that was pleasing to 
him.” 

This anatomist has further informed us, that he has 
brought to sight several others who had no remembrance 
of ever having seen; and that they all gave the same ac¬ 
count of their learning to see, as they called it, as the 
young man already mentioned, although not in so many 
particulars ; and that they all had this in common, that, 
having never had occasion to move their eyes, they knew 
not how to do it, and, at first, could not at all direct them 
to a particular object; but in time they acquired that fac¬ 
ulty, though by slow degrees. 

§ 43. Signs by means of which we estimate distance by sight. 

Blind persons, when at first restored to sight, are un¬ 
able to estimate the distance of objects by that sense, but 
soon observing that certain changes in the visible appear¬ 
ance of bodies always accompany a change of distance, 
they fall upon a method of estimating distance by the vis¬ 
ible appearance. And it would no doubt be found, if it 
could be particularly examined into, that all mankind 
come to possess the power of estimating the distances of 
objects by sight in the same way. When a body is re¬ 
moved from us and placed at a considerable distance, it 
becomes smaller in its visible appearance, its colours are 
less lively, and its outlines less distinct; and we may ex- 






56 


THE SENSE OF SIGHT. 


pect to find various intermediate objects, more or fewer 
in number, corresponding with the increase of the dis¬ 
tance, showing themselves between the receding object 
and the spectator. And hence it is, that a certain visible 
appearance comes to be the sign of a certain distance. 

Historical and landscape painters are enabled to turn 
these facts to great account in their delineations. By 
means of dimness of colour, indistinctness of outline, and 
the partial interposition of other objects, they are enabled 
apparently to throw back to a very considerable distance 
from the eye those objects which they wish to appear re¬ 
mote. ■ While other objects, that are intended to appear 
near, are painted vivid in colour, large in size, distinct in 
outline, and are separated from the eye of the spectator 
by few or no intermediate objects. 

$ 44. Estimation of distance when unaided by intermediate objects. 

(1.) As we depend, in no small degree, upon interme¬ 
diate objects in forming our notions of distance, it results, 
that we are often much perplexed by the absence of such 
objects. Accordingly, we find that people frequently mis¬ 
take, when they attempt to estimate by the eye the length 
or width of unoccupied plains and marshes, generally 
making the extent less than it really is. For the same 
reason they misjudge of the width of a river, estimating 
its width at half or three quarters of a mile at the most, 
when it is perhaps not less than double that distance. 
The same holds true of other bodies of water; and of 
all other things which are seen by us in a horizontal po¬ 
sition and under similar circumstances. 

(2.) We mistake in the same way also in estimating 
the height of steeples, and of other bodies that are per¬ 
pendicular, and not on a level with the eye, provided 
the height be considerable. As the upper parts of the 
steeple out-top the surrounding buildings, and there are 
no contiguous objects with which to compare it, any 
measurement taken by the eye must be inaccurate, but 
is generally less than the truth. 

(3) The fixed stars, when viewed by the eye, all ap¬ 
pear to be alike indefinitely and equally distant. Being 
scattered over the whole sky, they make every part of It 


V— 


HABITS OF SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 67 

three hundred sail belonging to the island, he would tell 
the name of each one as she approached with unerring 
! certainty, while she was still at such a distance as to pre¬ 
sent to a common eye only a confused white blur upon 
the clear horizon.” There are numerous instances to the 
same effect, occasioned by the situations in which men 
are placed, and the calls for the frequent exercise of the 
sight. The almost intuitive vision of the skilful engineer 
is, beyond doubt, in most cases merely a habit. He has 
so often fixed his eye upon those features in a country 
which have a relation to his peculiar calling, that he in¬ 
stantly detects the bearing of a military position, its sus¬ 
ceptibility of defence, its facilities of approach and re¬ 
treat, &c. 

No man is born without the sense of touch, but many 
are born without the sense of hearing; and, wherever this 
is the case,' w T e are entitled to look for habits of sight. 
Persons under such circumstances naturally and necessa¬ 
rily rely much on the visual sense, whatever aids may be 
had by them from the touch. Hence habits; and these 
imply increased quickness and power, wherever they ex¬ 
ist. It is a matter of common remark, that the keenness 
of visual observation in the deaf and dumb is strikingly 
increased by their peculiar circumstances. Shut out from 
the intercourse of speech, they read the minds of men in 
their movements, gestures, and countenances. They no¬ 
tice with astonishing quickness, and apparently without 
any effort, a thousand things which escape the regards of 
others. This fact is undoubtedly the foundation of the 
chief encouragement which men have to attempt the in¬ 
struction of that numerous and unfortunate class of their 
fellow-beings. They can form an opinion of what an¬ 
other says to them by the motion of the lips; and some¬ 
times even with a great degree of accuracy. That this last, 
however, is common, it is not necessary to assert; that it 
is possible, we have the testimony of well-authenticated 
facts. In one of his letters, Bishop Burnet mentions to 
this effect the case of £ young lady at Geneva.—“ At 
two years old,” he says, “ it was perceived that she had 
lost her hearing, and ever since, though she hears great 
noises, yet hears nothing of what is said to her; but, by 




58 


HABITS OF SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 


CHAPTER VII. 

HABITS OF SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 

§ 46. General view of the law of habit and of its applications. 

There is an important law of the mental constitution 
known as the law of Habit, which may be described in 
general terms as follows: That the mental action acquires 
facility and strength from repetition or practicei The 
fact that the facility and the increase of strength, implied 
in habit, is owing to mere repetition, or what is more fre¬ 
quently termed practice, we learn, as we do other facts 
and principles in relation to the mind, from the observa¬ 
tion of men around us, and from our own personal expe¬ 
rience. And as it has hitherto been found impracticable 
to resolve it into any general fact or principle more ele¬ 
mentary, it may justly be regarded as something ultimate 
and essential in our nature. 

The term Habit, by the use of language, indicates the 
facility and strength acquired in the way which has been 
mentioned, including both the result and the manner of 
it. As the law of habit has reference to the whole mind 
of man, the application of the term which expresses it is, 
of course, very extensive. We apply it to the dexterity 
of workmen in the different manual arts, to the rapidity of 
the accountant, to the coup d’oeil or eye-glance of the 
military engineer, to the tact and fluency of the extempo¬ 
raneous speaker, and in other like instances.—We apply it 
also in cases where the mere exercise of emotion and de¬ 
sire is concerned; to the avaricious man’s love of wealth, 
the ambitious man’s passion for distinction, the wakeful 
suspicions of the jealous, and the confirmed and substan¬ 
tial benevolence of the philanthropist. 

$ 47. The law of habit applicable to the mind as well as the body. 

It is remarkable, that the law under consideration holds 
good in respect to the body as well as the mind. In the 
mechanical arts, and in all cases where there is a corpo- 



HABITS OF SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 59 

real as well as mental effort, the effect of practice will 
be found to extend to both. Not only the acts of the 
mind are quickened and strengthened, but all those mus¬ 
cles which are at such times employed, become stronger 
and more obedient to the will. Indeed, the submission 
of the muscular effort to the volition is oftentimes render¬ 
ed so prompt by habit, that we are unable distinctly to 
recollect any exercise of volition previous to the active 
or muscular exertion. It is habit which is the basis 
of those characteristic peculiarities that distinguish one 
man’s handwriting from another’s; it is habit which 
causes that peculiarity of attitude and motion so easily 
discoverable in most persons, termed their gait; it is habit 
also which has impressed on the muscles, immediately 
connected with the organs of speech, that fixed and pre¬ 
cise form of action, which, in different individuals, gives 
rise, in part at least, to characteristics of voice. The 
habit, in the cases just mentioned, is both bodily and men¬ 
tal, and has become so strong, that it is hardly possible 
to counteract it for any length of time.—The great law 
of Habit is applicable to all the leading divisions of our 
mental nature, the Intellect, the Sensibilities, and the 
Will; and as we advance from one view of the mind to 
another, we shall have repeated occasion to notice its in¬ 
fluence. In the remainder of this chapter we shall limit 
our remarks to Habit, considered in connexion with the 
Sensations and Perceptions. 

§ 48. Of habit in relation to the smell. 

We shall consider the application of the principle of 
Habit to the senses in the same order which has already 
been observed. In the first place, there are habits of 
Smell._This sense, like the others, is susceptible of cul¬ 

tivation. As there are some persons whose power of 
distinguishing the difference of two or more colours is 
feeble^ so there are some who are doubtful and perplex¬ 
ed in like manner in the discrimination of odours. . And 
as the inability may be overcome in some measure in the 
former case, so it may be in the latter. The fact that 
the powers of which the smell is capable are not more 
frequently brought out and quickened, is owing to the 



60 HABITS OF SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 

circumstance that it is not ordinarily needed. It some¬ 
times happens, however, that men are compelled to make 
an uncommon use of it, when, by a defect in the other 
senses, they are left without the ordinary helps to knowl¬ 
edge. It is then we see the effects of the law of Habit. 
It is stated in Mr. Stewart’s account of James Mitchell, 
who was deaf, sightless, and speechless, and, of course, 
strongly induced by his unfortunate situation to make 
much use of the sense we are considering, that his smell 
would immediately and invariably inform him of the pres¬ 
ence of a stranger, and direct to the place where he 
might be; and it is repeatedly asserted, that this sense 
had become in him extremely acute.—“ It is related,” 
says Dr. Abercrombie, “ of the late Dr. Moyse, the well- 
known blind philosopher, that he could distinguish a 
black dress on his friends by its smell.” 

. In an interesting account of a deaf, dumb, and blind 
girl in the Hartford Asylum, recently published, state¬ 
ments are made on this subject of a similar purport.— 

“ It has been observed,” says the writer, “ of persons 
who are deprived of a particular sense, that additional 
quickness or vigour seems to be bestowed on those which 
remain. Thus blind persons are often distinguished by 
peculiar exquisiteness of touch ; and the deaf and dumb, 
who gain all their knowledge through the eye, concen- # 
trate, as it were, their whole souls in that channel of ob¬ 
servation. With her whose eye, ear, and tongue are 
alike dead, the capabilities both of touch and smell are 
exceedingly heightened. Especially the latter seems al¬ 
most to have acquired the properties of a new sense, and 
to transcend the sagacity even of a spaniel.”—Such is 
the influence of habit on the intimations of the sense 
under consideration. 

$ 49. Of habit in relation to the taste. 

The same law is applicable to the Taste. We see the 
results of the frequent exercise of this sense in the quick¬ 
ness which the dealer in wines discovers in distinguish¬ 
ing the flavour of one wine from that of another? So 
maiked are the results in cases of this kind, that one is 
almost disposed to credit the story which Cervantes re- 



HABITS OF SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 


61 


lates of two persons, who were requested to pass their 
judgment upon a hogshead which was supposed to be 
very old and excellent. One of them tasted the wjme, 
and pronounced it to be very good, with the exception of 
a slight taste of leather which he perceived in it. The 
other, after mature reflection and examination, pronoun¬ 
ced the same favourable verdict, with the exception of a 
taste of iron, which he could easily distinguish. On 
emptying the hogshead, there was found at the bottom an 
old key with a leathern thong tied to it. 

Another practical view of this subject, however, pre¬ 
sents itself here. The sensations which we experience 
in this and other like cases, not only acquire by repeti¬ 
tion greater niceness and discrimination, but increased 
strength; (and perhaps the increased strength is in all in¬ 
stances the foundation of the greater power of discrimi¬ 
nation.) On this topic we have a wide and melancholy 
source of illustration. The bibber of wine and the drink¬ 
er of ardent spirits readily acknowledge, that the sensa¬ 
tion was at first only moderately pleasing, and perhaps 
in the very slightest degree. Every time they carried the 
intoxicating potion to their lips, the sensation grew more 
pleasing, and the desire for it waxed stronger. Perhaps 
they were not aware that this process was going on in 
virtue of a great law of humanity; but they do not pre¬ 
tend to deny the fact. They might, indeed, have suspect¬ 
ed at an early period that chains were gathering around 
them, whatever might be the cause; but what objection 
had they to be bound with links of flowers; delightful 
while they lasted, and easily broken when necessary! 
But here was the mistake. Link was added to link; 
chain was woven with chain, till he who boasted of his 
strength was at last made sensible of his weakness, and 
found himself a prisoner, a captive, a deformed, altered, 
and degraded slave. 

There is a threefold operation. The sensation of taste 
acquires an enhanced degree of pleasantness; the feeling 
of imeasiness is increased in a corresponding measure 
when the sensation is not indulged by drinking; and the 
desire, which is necessarily attendant on the uneasy feei¬ 
ng, becomes in like manner more and more imperative. 


62 HABITS OF SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 

To alleviate the uneasy feeling and this importunate de¬ 
sire, the unhappy man goes again to his cups, and with 
a shaking hand pours down the delicious poison. What 
then ? He has added a new link to his chain; at every 
repetition it grows heavier and heavier, till that, which at 
first he bore lightly and cheerfully, now presses him like 
a coat of iron, and galls like fetters of steel. _ There is a 
great and fearful law of his nature bearing him down to 
destruction. Every indulgence is the addition of a new 
weight to what was before placed upon him, thus less¬ 
ening the probability of escape, and accelerating his 
gloomy, fearful, and interminable sinking. We do not 
mean to say that he is the subject of an implacable des¬ 
tiny, and cannot help himself. But it would seem that 
he can help himself only in this way; by a prompt, ab¬ 
solute, and entire suspension of the practice in all its 
forms, which has led him into this extremity. But few, 
however, have the resolution to do this; the multitude 
make a few unwilling and feeble efforts, and resign them¬ 
selves to the horrors of their fate. 

$ 50. Of habit in relation to the hearing. 

There is undoubtedly a natural difference in the quick¬ 
ness and discrimination of hearing. This sense is more 
acute in some than in others; but in those who possess 
it in much natural excellence, it is susceptible of a high 
degree of cultivation. Musicians are a proof of this, 
whose sensibility to the melody and concord of sweet 
sounds continually increases with the practice of their art.. 

The increase of sensibility in the perceptions of hear¬ 
ing is especially marked and evident, when uncommon 
causes have operated to secure such practice. And this is 
the state of things with the Blind. The readers of Sir 
Walter Scott may not have forgotten the blind fiddler, 
who figures so conspicuously with verse and harp in Red 
Gauntlet; a character sufficiently extraordinary, but by 
no means an improbable exaggeration. The blind neces¬ 
sarily rely much more than others on the sense of hear¬ 
ing. By constant practice they increase the accuracy 
and power of its perceptions. Shut out from the beau¬ 
ties that are seen, they please themselves with what is 




HABITS OF SENSATION AND PERCEPTION, 63 

heard, and greedily drink in the melodies of song. Ac¬ 
cordingly, music is made by them not only a solace, 
but a business and a means of support; and in the In¬ 
stitutions for the Blind this is considered an important 
department of instruction. 

Many particular instances on record, and well authen¬ 
ticated, confirm the general statement, that the ear may 
be trained to habits, and that thus the sensations of sound 
may come to us with new power and meaning. It is re¬ 
lated of a celebrated blind man of Puiseaux in France, 
that he could determine the quantity of fluid in vessels by 
the sound it produced while running from one vessel into 
another. “ Dr. Rush,” as the statement is given in Aber¬ 
crombie’s Intellectual Powers, “ relates of two blind young 
men, brothers, of the city of Philadelphia, that they knew 
when they approached a post in walking across a street 
by a peculiar sound which the ground under their feet 
emitted in the neighbourhood of the post; and that they 
could tell the names of a number of tame pigeons, with 
which they amused themselves in a little garden, by only 
hearing them fly over their heads.” Dr. Saunderson, 
who became blind so early as not to remember having 
seen, when happening in any new place, as a room, pi¬ 
azza, pavement, court, and the like, gave it a character by 
means of the sound and echo from his feet; and in that 
way was able to identify pretty exactly the place, and 
assure himself of his position afterward. A writer in the 
First Volume of the Manchester Philosophical Memoirs, 
who is our authority also for the statement just made, 
speaks of a certain blind man in that city as follows: “I 
had an opportunity of repeatedly observing the peculiar 
manner in which he arranged his ideas and acquired his 
information. Whenever he was introduced into compa¬ 
ny, I remarked that he continued some time silent. The 
sound directed him to judge of the dimensions of the 
room, and the different voices of the number of persons 
that were present. His distinction in these respects was 
very accurate, and his memory so retentive that he was 
seldom mistaken. I have known him instantly recognise 
a person on first hearing him, though more than two years 
had elapsed since the time of their last meeting. He 


64 


HABITS OF SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 


determined pretty nearly the stature of those he was con¬ 
versing with by the direction of their voices; and he 
made tolerable conjectures respecting their tempers and 
dispositions by the manner in which they conducted their 
conversation.” 


§ 51. Application of habit to the touch. 

The sense of touch, like the others, may be exceedingly 
improved by habit. The more we are obliged to call it 
into use, the more attention we pay to its intimations. By 
the frequent repetition, therefore, under such circumstan¬ 
ces, these sensations not only acquire increased intense- 
ness in themselves, but particularly so in reference to our 
notice and remembrance of them. But it is desirable to 
confirm this, as it is all other principles from time to time 
laid down, by an appeal to facts, and by careful induc¬ 
tions from them. 

Diderot relates of the blind man of Puiseaux, mention¬ 
ed in a former section, that he was capable of judging of 
his distance from the fireplace by the degree of heat, and 
of his approach to any solid bodies by the action or pulse 
of the air upon his face. The same thing is recorded of 
many other persons in a similar situation; and it may be 
regarded as a point well established, that blind people 
who are unable to see the large and heavy bodies pre¬ 
senting themselves in their way as they walk about, gen¬ 
erally estimate their approach to them by the increased 
resistance of the atmosphere. A blind person, owing to 
the increased accuracy of his remaining senses, especially 
of the touch, would be better trusted to go through the 
various apartments of a house in the darkness of midnight, 
than one possessed of the sense of seeing without any ar¬ 
tificial light to guide him. 

In the celebrated Dr. Saunderson, who lost his sight in 
very early youth, and remained blind through life, al¬ 
though he occupied the professorship of mathematics in 
the English University of Cambridge, the touch acquired 
such acuteness that he could distinguish, by merely let¬ 
ting them pass through his fingers, spurious coins, which 
were so well executed as to deceive even skilful judges 
who could see.* J 8 

* Memoirs of the Manchester Philosophical Society, vol. i., p. 164 . 


HABITS OF SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 


65 


The case of a Mr. John Metcalf, otherwise called Blind 
Jack, which is particularly dwelt upon by the author of 
the Article in the Memoirs just referred to, is a striking- 
one. The writer states that he became blind at an early 
period; but, notwithstanding, followed the profession of 
a wagoner, and occasionally of a guide in intricate roads 
during the night, or when the tracks were covered with 
snow. At length he became a projector and surveyor of 
highways in difficult and mountainous districts; an em¬ 
ployment for which one would naturally suppose a blind 
man to be but indifferently qualified. But he was found 
to answer all the expectations of his employers, and most 
of the roads over the Peak in Derbyshire, in England, 
were altered by his directions. Says the person who 
gives this account of Blind Jack, “ I have several times 
met this man, with the assistance of a long staff, traversing 
the roads, ascending precipices, exploring valleys, and 
investigating their several extents, forms, and situations, 
so as to answer his designs in the best manner.” 

In the interesting Schools for the Blind which have 
recently been established in various parts of the world, 
the pupils read by means of the fingers. They very soon 
learn by the touch to distinguish one letter from another, 
which are made separately for that purpose of wood, 
metals, or other hard materials. The printed sheets 
which they use are conformed to their method of study¬ 
ing them. The types are much larger than those ordina¬ 
rily used in printing; the paper is very thick, and being 
put upon the types while wet, and powerfully pressed, 
the letters on it are consequently raised, and appear in 
relief. The pupils having before learned to distinguish 
one letter from another, and also to combine them into 
syllables and words, are able after a time to pass their 
fingers along the words and sentences of these printed 
sheets, and ascertain their meaning, with a good degree 
of rapidity. 

§ 52 . Other striking instances of habits of touch. 

The power of the touch will increase in proportion to 
the necessity of a reliance on it. The more frequent the 
resort to it, the stronger will be the habit 3 but the neces- 


66 HABITS OF SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 

sity of this frequent reference to it will be found to be 
peculiarly great where a person is deprived of two of his 
other senses. It is noticed of James Mitchell, whose case 
has been already referred to, that he distinguished such 
articles as belonged to himself from the property of others 
by this sense. Although the articles were of the same 
form and materials with those of others, it would seem 
that he was not at a loss in identifying what was his own. 
It will be recollected that he could neither see nor hear, 
and was, of course, speechless. He was obliged, there¬ 
fore, to depend chiefly on the touch. This sense was the 
principal instrument he made use of in forming an ac¬ 
quaintance with the strangers who frequently visited him. 
And what is particularly remarkable, he actually explored 
by it, at an early period, a space round his father’s resi¬ 
dence of about two hundred yards in extent, to any part 
of which he was in the practice of walking fearlessly and 
without a guide, whenever he pleased. 

It is related of the deaf and blind girl in the Hartford 
Asylum, that it is impossible to displace a single article 
in her drawers without her perceiving and knowing it; 
and that, when the baskets of linen are weekly brought 
from the laundress, she selects her own garments without 
hesitation, however widely they may be dispersed among 
the mass. This is probably owing, at least in great part, 
to habits of touch, by means of which the sense is render¬ 
ed exceedingly acute.—Diderot has even gone so far as 
to conjecture that persons deprived of both sight and 
hearing would so increase the sensibility of touch as to 
locate the seat of the soul in the tips of the fingers. 

$ 53. Habits considered in relation to the sight. 

The law of habit affects the sight also. By a course 
of training this sense seems to acquire new power. The 
length and acuteness of vision in the mariner who has 
long traversed the ocean has been frequently referred to. 
—A writer in the North American Review (July, 1833 ) 
says, he once “ knew a man, in the Greek island of Hy¬ 
dra, who was accustomed to take his post every day for 
thirty years on the summit of the island, and look out for 
the approach of vessels; and although there were over 


HABITS OF SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 67 

three hundred sail belonging to the island, he would tell 
the name of each one as she approached with unerring 
certainty, while she was still at such a distance as to pre¬ 
sent to a common eye only a confused white blur upon 
the clear horizon.” There are numerous instances to the 
same effect, occasioned by the situations in which men 
are placed, and the calls for the frequent exercise of the 
sight. The almost intuitive vision of the skilful engineer 
is, beyond doubt, in most cases merely a habit. He has 
so often fixed his eye upon those features in a country 
which have a relation to his peculiar calling, that he in¬ 
stantly detects the bearing of a military position, its sus¬ 
ceptibility of defence, its facilities of approach and re¬ 
treat, &c. 

No man is born without the sense of touch, but many 
are born without the sense of hearing; and, wherever this 
is the case, we are entitled to look for habits of sight. 
Persons under such circumstances naturally and necessa¬ 
rily rely much on the visual sense, whatever aids may be 
had by them from the touch. Hence habits; and these 
imply increased quickness and power, wherever they ex¬ 
ist. It is a matter of common remark, that the keenness 
of visual observation in the deaf and dumb is strikingly 
increased by their peculiar circumstances. Shut out from 
the intercourse of speech, they read the minds of men in 
their movements, gestures, and countenances. They no¬ 
tice with astonishing quickness, and apparently without 
any effort, a thousand things which escape the regards of 
others. This fact is undoubtedly the foundation of the 
chief encouragement which men have to attempt the in¬ 
struction of that numerous and unfortunate class of their 
fellow-beings. They can form an opinion of what an¬ 
other says to them by the motion of the lips; and some¬ 
times even with a great degree of accuracy. That this last, 
however, is common, it is not necessary to assert 3 that it 
is possible, we have the testimony of well-authenticated 
facts. In one of his letters, Bishop Burnet mentions to 
this effect the case of a young lady at Geneva.—“ At 
two years old,” he says, u it was perceived that she had 
lost her hearing, and ever since, though she hears great 
noises, yet hears nothing of what is said to her; but, by 


68 


HABITS OF SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 


observing the motion of the lips and mouths of others, 3 
she acquired so many words, that out of these she has 
formed a sort 1 of jargon in which she can hold conversa¬ 
tion whole days with those who can speak her language. 
She knows nothing of what is said to her, unless she sees j 
the motion of their lips that speak to her; one thing will 1 
appear the strangest part of the whole narrative. She ' 
has a sister with whom she has practised her language 
more than with anybody else, and in the night, by laying 
her hand on her sister’s mouth, she can perceive by that 
what she says, and so can discourse with her in the dark.” 
(London Quarterly Review, vol. xxiv, p. 399 .) 

Such are the views which have been opened to us in 
considering the law of habit in connexion with the sen¬ 
ses ; and we may venture to say with confidence, that I 
they are exceedingly worthy of notice. There are two 
suggestions which they are especially fitted to call up. 
They evince the striking powers of the human mind, its 
irrepressible energies, which no obstacles can bear down. 
They evince also the benevolence of our Creator, who 
opens in the hour of misery new sources of comfort, and 
compensates for what we have not, by increasing the 
power and value of what we have. 

$ 54. Sensations may possess a relative, as well as positive increase of 
ppwer. 

There remains a remark of some importance to be made 
in connexion with the general principle which has been 
brought forward, and as in some measure auxiliary to it; 
for it will help to explain the more striking instances of 
habits, if any should imagine that the fact of mere repe¬ 
tition is not sufficient to account for them. Our sensa¬ 
tions and perceptions may acquire not only a direct and 
positive, but a relative and virtual increase of power. 

This remark is thus explained. We shall hereafter see 
the truth of an important principle to this effect, that there 
will be a weakness of remembrance in any particular case 
in proportion to the want of interest in it. Now hun¬ 
dreds and thousands of our sensations and perceptions are 
not remembered, because we take no interest in them. Of 
course they are the same, relatively to our amount of 


HABITS OF SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 69 

knowledge and our practice, as if they had never existed 
at all. But when we are placed in some novel situation, 
or when, in particular, we are deprived of any one of the 
senses, the pressure of our necessities creates that interest 
which was wanting before. Then we delay upon, and 
mark, and remember, and interpret a multitude of evan¬ 
escent intimations which were formerly neglected. The 
senses thus acquire a very considerable relative power 
and value. And in order to make out a satisfactory ex¬ 
planation of some instances of habits, it is perhaps neces¬ 
sary that this relative increase should be added to the di¬ 
rect and positive augmentation of vigour and quickness 
resulting from mere repetition or exercise. 

§ 55. Of habits as modified by particular callings and arts. 

Hitherto it has been our chief object to examine hab¬ 
its in their relation to the senses separately; it is proper 
also to take a general view of them, as formed and mod¬ 
ified by the particular callings and employments of men. 
Habits of perception are frequently formed under such 
circumstances, where all the senses are not only possess¬ 
ed, but where they exist with their ordinary aptitudes and 
powers.—In consequence of the habits which he has been 
called upon to form by his particular situation, a farmer 
of a tolerable degree of experience and discernment re¬ 
quires but a slight inspection, in order to give an opinion 
on the qualities of a piece of land, and its suitableness for 
a settlement. A skilful printer will at once notice every¬ 
thing of excellence or of deficiency in the mechanical 
execution of a printed work.—The same results are found 
in all who practise the fine arts. An experienced paint¬ 
er at once detects a mannerism in colouring, combinations 
and contrasts of light and shade, and peculiarities of form, 
proportion, or position, which infallibly escape a person 
of more limited experience. 

Dr. Reid speaks on this subject in the following char¬ 
acteristic manner.—“ Not only men, but children, idiots, 
and brutes, acquire by habit many perceptions which they 
had not originally. Almost every employment in life 
hath perceptions of this kind that are peculiar to it. The 
shepherd knows every sheep of his flock, as we do our 



70 HABITS OF SENSATION AND PERCEPTION* 

acquaintance, and can pick them out of another flock one 
by one. The butcher knows by sight the weight and 
quality of his beeves and sheep before they are killed. 
The farmer perceives by his eye very nearly the quantity 
of hay in a rick, or of corn in a heap. The sailor sees 
the burden, the built, and the distance of a ship at sea, 
while she is a great way off. Every man accustomed to 
writing, distinguishes acquaintances by their handwriting, 
as he does by their faces. And the painter distinguishes, 
in the works of his art, the style of all the great masters. 
In a word, acquired perception is very different in differ¬ 
ent persons, according to the diversity of objects about 1 
which they are employed, and the application they bestow i 
in observing them.”* 

$ 56. The law of habit considered in reference to the perception of the 
outlines and forms of objects. 

Before leaving the subject of Habit, considered as in¬ 
fluencing Sensation and Perception, there is one other 
topic which seems to be entitled to a brief notice; we 
refer to the manner in which we perceive the outlines and 
forms of bodies. In discussing the subject of Attention, 
Mr. Stewart, in connexion with his views on that subject, 
introduces some remarks in respect to vision. He makes 
this supposition, That the eye is fixed in a particular po¬ 
sition, and the picture of an object is painted on the ret¬ 
ina. He then starts this inquiry: Does the mind per¬ 
ceive the complete figure of the object at once, or is this 
perception the result of the various perceptions we have 
of the different points in the outline ?—He holds the 
opinion, that the perception is the result of our percep¬ 
tions of the different points in the outline, which he adopts 
as naturally consequent on such views, as the following. 
The outline of every body is made up of points or small¬ 
est visible portions; no two of these points can be in 
precisely the same direction; therefore every point by it¬ 
self constitutes just as distinct an object of attention to the 
mind, as if it were separated by some interval of empty 
space from all the other points. The conclusion there¬ 
fore is, as every body is made up of parts, and as the per- 
* Reid’s Inquiry into the Human Mind, chap, vi., § 20. 



HABITS OF SENSATION AND PERCEPTION. 71 

ception of the figure of the whole object implies a knowl¬ 
edge of the relative situation of the different parts with 
respect to each other, that such perception is the result 
of a number of different acts of attention. 

But if we adopt this view of Mr. Stewart, it is incum¬ 
bent upon us to show how it happens that we appear to 
see the object at once. The various facts which have 
been brought forward in this chapter appear to furnish 
us with a solution of this question. The answer is, that 
the acts of perception are performed with such rapidity, 
that the effect with respect to us is the same as if it were 
instantaneous. A habit has been formed; the glance of 
the mind, in the highest exercise of that habit, is inde¬ 
scribably quick; time is virtually annihilated; and sep¬ 
arate moments are to our apprehension of them crowded 
into one. 

$ 57. Notice of some facts which favour the above doctrine. 

Some persons will probably entertain doubts of Mr. 
Stewart’s explanation of the manner in which we per¬ 
ceive the outlines of objects; but there are various cir¬ 
cumstances which tend to confirm it.—‘When we look for 
the first time on any object which is diversified with gaudy 
colours, the mind is evidently perplexed with the variety 
of perceptions which arise; the view is indistinct, which 
would not be the case if there were only one, and that an 
' immediate perception. And even in paintings, which are 
of a more laudable execution, the effects at the first per¬ 
ception will be similar. 

But there is another fact which comes still more di¬ 
rectly to the present point. We find that we do not have 
as distinct an idea, at the first glance, of a figure of a 
hundred sides, as we do of a triangle or square. But we 
evidently should, if the perception of visible figure were 
the immediate consequence of the picture on the retina, 
and not the combined result of the separate perceptions 
of the points in the outline. Whenever the figure is very 
simple, the process of the mind is so very rapid that the 
perception seems to be instantaneous. But when the 
sides are multiplied beyond a certain number, the inter¬ 
val of time necessary for these different acts of attention 



72 HABITS OF SENSATION AND PERCEPTION# 

becomes perceptible. We are then distinctly conseiom 
that the mind labours from one part of the object to an¬ 
other, and that some time elapses before we grasp it as s 
whole. 

$ 58. Additional illustrations of Mr. Stewards doctrine. 

These views and illustrations are still further confirmed 
by some interesting, and perhaps more decisive facts. In 
1807, Sir Everard Home, well known for his various phil¬ 
osophical publications, read before the Royal Society an 
account of two blind children whom he had couched for 
the cataract. One of these was John Salter. Upon this 
boy various experiments were made, for the purpose, 
among other things, of ascertaining whether the sense of 
sight does originally, and of itself alone, give us a knowl- i 
edge of the true figure of bodies. Some of the facts eli- * 
cited under these circumstances have a bearing upon the 
subject now before us. In repeated instances, on the day 
of his restoration to sight, the boy called square and tri- : 
angular bodies, which were presented to the visual sense 
merely, round. On a square body being presented to him, \ 
he expressed a desire to touch it. “ This being refused, 
he examined it for some time, and said at last that he had j 
found a corner, and then readily counted the four comers, 
of the square; and afterward, when a triangle was shown 
him, he counted the corners in the same way; but,in 
doing so, his eye went along the edge from corner to cor- j 
ner, naming them as he went along.” On the thirteenth 
day after the cataract was removed, the visual power he 
had acquired was so small, that he could not by sight tell 
a square from a circle, without previously directing his 
sight to the corners of the square figure as he did at first,, 
and thus passing from corner to corner, and counting them 
one by one. It was noticed that the sight seemed to la¬ 
bour slowly onward from one point and angle to another, 
as if it were incapable of embracing the outline by a 
simultaneous and undivided movement. The process, 
however, became more and more easy and rapid, until 
the perception, which at first was obviously made up of 
distinct and successive acts, came to be in appearance 
(and we may suppose it was only in appearance) a con¬ 
centrated and single one. 



CONCEPTIONS. 


73 


It was the same with Caspar Hauser. It is remarked 
by his biographer, that whenever a person was introdu¬ 
ced to him, (this was probably soon after his release from 
his prison,) he went up very close to him, regarded him 
with a sharp, staring look, and noticed particularly each 
distinct part of his face, such as the forehead, eyes, nose, 
mouth, and chin. He then collected and consolidated all 
the different parts of the countenance, which he had no¬ 
ticed separately and piece by piece, into one whole. And 
it was not till after this process that he seemed to have 
a knowledge of the countenance or face, in distinction 
from the parts of the face. 


CHAPTER VIH. 

CONCEPTIONS. 


$ 59. Meaning and characteristics of conceptions. 

We are now led, as we advance in the general subject 
of intellectual states of external origin, to contemplate 
the mind in another view, viz., as employed in giving rise 
to what are usually termed conceptions. Without pro¬ 
fessing to propose a definition in all respects unexcep¬ 
tionable, we are entitled to say, in general terms, that this 
name is given to any re-existing sensations whatever 
which the mind has felt at some former period, and to 
the ideas which we frame of absent objects of perception. 
Whenever we have conceptions, our sensations and per¬ 
ceptions are replaced, as Shakspeare expresses it, in the 
“ mind’s eye,” without our at all considering at what 
time or in what [dace they first originated. In other 
words, they are revived or recalled, and nothing more.— 
Using, therefore, the term conceptions to express a class 
of mental states, and, in accordance with the general 
plan, having particular reference in our remarks here to 
such as are of external origin, it may aid in the better 
understanding of their distinctive character if we mention 
more particularly how they differ both from sensations 
G 







74 


CONCEPTIONS. 


and perceptions, and also from remembrances, with which i 
last some may imagine them to be essentially the same. 

(I.) Conceptions differ from the ordinary sensations 
and perceptions in this respect, that both their causes and 
their objects are absent. When the rose, the honeysuckle, 
or other odoriferous body is presented to us, the effect 
which follows in the mind is termed a sensation. When 
we afterward think of that sensation, (as we sometimes 
express it,) when the sensation is recalled, even though 
very imperfectly, without the object which originally 
caused it being present, it then becomes, by the use of 
language, a conception. And it is the same in any in¬ 
stance of perception. When, in strictness of speech, we 
are said to perceive anything, as a tree, a building, or a 
mountain, the objects of our perceptions are in all cases 
before us. But we may form conceptions of them; they 
may be recalled and exist in the mind’s eye , however 
remote they may be in fact, both in time and place. 

(II.) They differ also from remembrances or ideas of 
memory. We take no account of the period when those 
objects which laid the foundation of them were present; 
whereas, in every act of the memory, there is combined 
with the conception a notion of the past. Hence, as 
those states of mind, which we call conceptions, possess 
these distinctive marks, they are well entitled to a sep¬ 
arate name. 

Conceptions are regulated in their appearance and dis¬ 
appearance by the principles of Association, which will 
be explained hereafter.—Whenever at any time we may 
use the phrase “power of conception” or “faculty of 
conception,” nothing more is to be understood by such 
expressions than this, that there is in the mind a suscepti¬ 
bility of feelings or ideas possessing the marks which we 
have ascribed to this class. 

§ 60. Of conceptions of objects of sight. 

One of the striking facts in regard to our conceptions 
is, that we can far more easily conceive of the objects of 
some senses than of others. He who has visited the Pyr¬ 
amids of Egypt and the imposing remains of Grecian 
temples, or has beheld, among nature’s still greater works, 




CONCEPTIONS. 


75 


the towering heights of the Alps and the mighty cataract 
of Niagara, will never afterward he at a loss in forming 
a vivid conception of those interesting objects. The vis¬ 
ual perceptions are so easily and so distinctly recalled, 
that it is hardly too much to say of them, that they seem 
to exist as permanent pictures in the mind. It is related 
of Carsten Niebuhr, a well-known traveller in the East, 
that, in extreme old age, after he had become blind, he 
entertained his visiters with interesting details of what he 
had seen many years before at Persepolis; describing the 
walls on which the inscriptions and bas-reliefs of which 
he spoke were found, just as one would describe a build¬ 
ing which he had recently visited. His son, who has 
given an account of his life, remarks, in connexion with 
this fact: “ We could not conceal our astonishment. He 
said to us, that, as he lay blind upon his bed, the images 
of all that he had seen in the East were ever present to 
his soul; and it was therefore no wonder that he should 
speak of them as of yesterday. In like manner, there was 
vividly reflected to him, in the hours of stillness, the noc¬ 
turnal view of the deep Asiatic heavens, with their brill¬ 
iant host of stars, which he had so often contemplated; 
or else their blue and lofty vault by day; and this was 
his greatest enjoyment.” 

There seems to be less vividness in the conceptions of 
sound, touch, taste, and smell; particularly the last three. 
Every one knows that it is difficult in ordinary cases to 
recall with much distinctness a particular pain which we 
have formerly experienced, or a particular taste, or smell. 
The fact that the perceptions of sight are more easily and 
distinctly recalled than others, may be thus partially ex¬ 
plained.—Visible objects, or, rather, the outlines of them, 
are complex; that is, they are made up of a great num¬ 
ber of points or very small portions. Hence the concep¬ 
tion which we form of such an object as a whole, is 
aided by the principles of association. The reason is 
obvious. As every original perception of a visible object 
is a compound made up of many parts, whenever we 
subsequently have a conception of it, the process is the 
same; we have a conception of a part of the object, and 
the principles of association help us in conceiving of the 


76 


CONCEPTIONS. 


other parts. Association connects the parts together ; it 
presents them to the mind in their proper arrangement, 
and helps to sustain them there. 

We are not equally aided by the laws of association 
in forming our conceptions of the objects of the other 
senses. When we think of some sound, taste, touch, or 
smell, the object of our conception is either a single de¬ 
tached sensation or a series of sensations. In every such 
detached sensation of sound, taste, touch, or smell, whether 
we consider it at its first origin, or when it is subsequently 
recalled, there is not necessarily that fixed and intimate 
association of the parts which we suppose to exist in 
every visual perception, and which must exist also in 
every conception of objects of sight which subsequently 
takes place. Accordingly, our conceptions of the latter ob¬ 
jects arise more readily, and are more distinct, than of the 
others.—There is a greater readiness and distinctness also, 
when there is a series of sensations and perceptions of 
sight, for the subsequent visual conceptions are aided by 
associations both in time and place; but the recurrence 
of other sensations and perceptions is aided only by asso¬ 
ciations in time. 

$ 61. Of the influence of habit on our conceptions. 

It is another circumstance worthy of notice in regard 
to conceptions, that the power of forming them depends 
in some measure on habit.— A few instances will help to 
illustrate the statement, that what is termed Habit may 
extend to the susceptibility of conceptions; and the first 
to be given will be of conceptions of sound. Our con¬ 
ceptions^ sound are not, in general, remarkably distinct, 
as was intimated in the last section. It is nevertheless 
true, that a person may by practice acquire the power of 
amusing himself with merely reading written music. 
Having frequently associated the sounds with the notes, 
he has at last such a strong conception of the sounds, 
that he experiences, by merely reading the notes, a very 
sensible pleasure. It is for the same reason, viz., because 
our conceptions are strengthened by repetition or practice, 
that readers may enjoy the harmony of poetical numbers 
without at all articulating the words. In both cases they 


CONCEPTIONS. 


77 


truly hear nothing ; there is no actual sensation of sound; 
and yet there is a virtual enunciation and melody in the 
mind. It seems to be on this principle we are enabled to 
explain the fact, that Beethoven composed some of his 
most valued musical pieces after he had become entirely 
deaf; originating harmonic combinations so profound and 
exquisite as to require the nicest ear as a test, at the very 
time he was unable to hear anything himself. 

$ 62. Influence of habit on conceptions of sight. 

That our power of forming conceptions is strengthen¬ 
ed by habit, is capable of being further illustrated from 
the sight. A person who has been accustomed to draw¬ 
ing, retains a much more perfect notion of a building, 
landscape, or other visible object, than one who has not. 
A portrait painter, or any person who has been in the 
practice of drawing such sketches, can trace the outlines 
of the human form with very great ease; it requires 
hardly more effort from them than to write their names. 

_This point may also be illustrated by the difference 

which we sometimes notice in people in their conceptions 
of colours. Some are fully sensible of the difference be¬ 
tween two colours when they are presented to them, but 
cannot with confidence give names to these colours when 
they see them apart, and may even confound the one with 
the other. Their original sensations and perceptions are 
supposed to be equally distinct with those of other per¬ 
sons ; but their subsequent conception of the colours is 
far from being so. This defect arises partly, at least, 
from want of practice; that is to say, from the not hav¬ 
ing formed a habit. The persons who exhibit this weak¬ 
ness of conception have not been compelled, by their sit¬ 
uation nor by mere inclination, to distinguish and to 
name colours so much as is common. 

§ 63 . Of the subserviency of our conceptions to description. 

It is highly favourable to the talent for lively descrip¬ 
tion, when a person’s conceptions are readily suggested 
and are distinct. Even such a one’s common conversa¬ 
tion differs from that of those whose conceptions arise 
more slowly and are more faint. One man, whether in 


78 


CONCEPTIONS. 


conversation or in written description, seems to place the 
object which he wishes to describe directly before us; it 
is represented distinctly and to the life. Another, al¬ 
though not wanting in a command of language, is con¬ 
fused and embarrassed amid a multitude of particulars, i 
which, in consequence of the feebleness of his concep¬ 
tions, he finds himself but half acquainted with; and he 
therefore gives us but a very imperfect and confused no¬ 
tion of the thing which he desires to make known. 

It has been by some supposed, that a person might 
give a happier description of an edifice, of a landscape, 
or other object, from the conception than from the actual 
perception of it. The perfection of a description does 
not always consist in a minute specification of circum¬ 
stances ; in general, the description is better when there j 
is a judicious selection of them. The best rule for ma¬ 
king the selection is to attend to the particulars that make 
the deepest impression on our own minds, or, what is the 
same thing, that most readily and distinctly take a place 
in our conceptions.—When the object is actually before 
us, it is extremely difficult to compare the impressions 
which different circumstances produce. When we after¬ 
ward conceive of the object, we possess merely the out¬ 
line of it; but it is an outline made up of the most stri¬ 
king circumstances. The circumstances, it is true, will not 
impress all persons alike, but will somewhat vary with 
the degree of their taste. But when, with a correct and 
delicate taste, any one combines lively conceptions, and 
gives a description from those conceptions, he can hardly 
fail to succeed in it. And, accordingly, we find here one 
great element of poetic power. It is the ability of form¬ 
ing vivid conceptions which bodies forth 

“ The forms of things unknown ; the poet’s pen 
Turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing 
A local habitation and a name.” 

$ 64. Of conceptions attended with a momentary belief. 

Our conceptions are sometimes attended with belief; 
when they are very lively, we are apt to ascribe to them 
a real outward existence, or believe in them. We do 
not undertake to assert that the belief is permanent; but 




CONCEPTIONS. 79 

a number of facts strongly lead to the conclusion that it 
has a momentary existence. 

(1.) A painter, in drawing the features and bodily form 
of an absent friend, may have so strong a conception, so 
vivid a mental picture, as to believe for a moment that his 
friend is before him. After carefully recalling his thoughts 
at such times, and reflecting upon them, almost every paint¬ 
er is ready to say that he has experienced some illusions of 
this kind. w We read,” says Dr. Conolly, “ that, when 
Sir Joshua Reynolds, after being many hours occupied in 
painting, walked out into the street, the lamp-posts seem¬ 
ed to him to be trees, and the men and women moving 
shrubs.” It is true, the illusion is in these cases very 
short, because the intensity of conception, which is the 
foundation of it, can never be kept up long when the 
mind is in a sound state. Such intense conceptions are 
unnatural. And, further, all the surrounding objects of 
perception, which no one can altogether disregard for any 
length of time, tend to check the illusion and terminate it. 

(2.) When a blow is aimed at any one, although in 
sport, and he fully knows it to be so, he forms so vivid a 
conception of what might possibly be the effect, that his 
belief is for a moment controlled, and he unavoidably 
shrinks back from it. This is particularly the case if the 
blow approaches the eye. Who can help winking at 
such times 1 It is a proof of our belief being controlled 
under such circumstances, that we can move our own 
hands rapidly in the neighbourhood of the eye, either 
perpendicularly or horizontally; and, at the same time, 
easily keep our eyelids from motion. But when the mo¬ 
tion is made by another, the conception becomes more 
vivid, and a belief of danger inevitably arises.—Again, 
place a person on the battlements of a high tower; his 
reason tells him he is in no danger; he knows he is in 
none. But, after all, he is unable to look down from the 
battlements without fear; his conceptions are so exceed¬ 
ingly vivid as to induce a momentary belief of danger 
in opposition to all his reasonings. 

(3.) When we are in pain from having struck our foot 
against a stone, or when pain is suddenly caused in us by 
any other inanimate object, we are apt to vent a moment- 


80 


CONCEPTIONS. 


ary rage upon it. That is to say, our belief is so affect-- 
ed for an instant, that we ascribe to it an accountable ex¬ 
istence, and would punish it accordingly. This is ob¬ 
served particularly in children and in Savages. It is on 
the principle of our vivid conceptions being attended 
with belief, that poets so often ascribe life, and agency, 
and intention to the rain and winds, to storms, and thun¬ 
der and lightning. How natural are the expressions of 
King Lear, overwhelmed with the ingratitude of his ; 
daughters, and standing with his old head bared to the 
pelting tempest! 

“ Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters ; 

I tax not you, ye elements, with unkindness ; 

I never gave you kingdoms, called you children.” 

(4.) There are persons who are entirely convinced of 
the folly of the popular belief of ghosts and other night¬ 
ly apparitions, but who cannot be persuaded to sleep in 
a room alone, nor go alone into a room in the dark. 
Whenever they happen out at night, they are constantly 
looking on every side; their quickened perceptions behold 
images, which never had any existence except in their 
own minds, and they are the subjects of continual dis¬ 
quiet and even terror.—■“ It was my misfortune,” says Dr. 
Priestly, “ to have the idea of darkness, and the ideas of 
invisible malignant spirits and apparitions very closely 
connected in my infancy; and to this day<, notwithstand¬ 
ing I believe nothing of those invisible powers, and, con¬ 
sequently, of their connexion with darkness, or anything 
else, I cannot be perfectly easy in every kind of situation 
in the dark, though I am sensible I gain ground upon 
this prejudice continually.” 

In all such cases we see the influence of the prejudices 
of the nursery. Persons who are thus afflicted were 
taught in early childhood to form conceptions of ghosts, 
visible hobgoblins, and unearthly spirits; and the habit 
still continues. It is true, when they listen to their rea¬ 
sonings and philosophy, they may well say they do not 
believe in such things. But the effect of their philoso¬ 
phy is merely to check their belief; not in ten cases in a 
thousand is the belief entirely overcome. Every little 
while, in all solitary places, and especially in the dark, it 




CONCEPTIONS. 


81 


returns, and, when banished, returns again; otherwise we 
cannot give an explanation of the conduct of these per¬ 
sons. 

§ 65. Conceptions which are joined with perceptions. 

The belief in our mere conceptions is the more evi¬ 
dent and striking whenever at any time they are joined 
with our perceptions.—A person, for instance, is walking 
in a field in a foggy morning, and perceives something, 
no matter what it is ; but he believes it to be a man, and 
does not doubt it. In other words, he truly perceives 
some object, and, in addition to that perception, has a 
mental conception of a man, attended with belief. When 
he has advanced a few feet further, all at once he per¬ 
ceives that what he conceived to be a man is merely a 
stump with a few stones piled on its top. He perceived 
at first, as'plainly or but little short of it, that it was a 
stump, as in a moment afterward ; there were the whole 
time very nearly the same visible form and the same di¬ 
mensions in his eye. But he had the conception of a 
man in his mind at the same moment, which overruled 
and annulled the natural effects of the visual perception; 
the conception, being associated with the present visible 
object, acquired peculiar strength and permanency; so 
much so, that he truly and firmly believed that a human 
being was before him. But the conception has departed; 
the present object of perception has taken its place, and 
it is now impossible for him to conjure up the phantom, 
the reality of which he but just now had no doubt of 
One of the numerous characters whom Sir Walter 
Scott has sketched with so much truth to nature, speaks 
of himself as being banished, on a certain occasion, to 
one of the sandy Keys of the West Indies, which was re¬ 
puted to be inhabited by malignant demons. This per¬ 
son, after acknowledging he had his secret apprehensions 
upon their account, remarks, “ In open daylight or in ab¬ 
solute darkness I did not greatly apprehend their ap¬ 
proach ; but in the misty dawn of the morning, or when 
evening w r as about to fall, I saw, for the first week of my 
abode on the Key, many a dim and undefined spectre; 
now resembling a Spaniard, "with his capa wrapped 


82 


CONCEPTIONS. 


around him, and his huge sombrera, as large as an um¬ 
brella, upon his head; now a Dutch sailor, with his rough 
cap and trunk hose; and now an Indian Cacique, with 
his feathery crown and long lance of cane. I always 
approached them, but, whenever I drew near, the phantom 
changed into a bush, or a piece of driftwood, or a wreath 
of mist, or some such cause of deception.” 

But it is unnecessary to resort to books for illustrations 
of this topic. Multitudes of persons have a conceptive 
facility of creations, which is often troublesome and per¬ 
plexing; especially in uncommon situations, and in the 
night. And in all cases this tendency is greatly strength¬ 
ened, whenever it can lay hold of objects, the outlines 
of which it can pervert to its own purposes.—In instan¬ 
ces of this kind, where the conceptions are upheld, as it 
were, by present objects of perception, and receive a sort ! 
of permanency from them, nothing is better known than 
that we often exercise a strong and unhesitating belief. 
These instances, therefore, can properly be considered as 
illustrating and confirming the views in the preceding j 
section. 

$ 66. Conceptions as connected with fictitious representations. 

These observations suggest an explanation, at least in ! 
part, of the effects which are produced on the mind by ! 
exhibitions of fictitious distress. In the representation 
of tragedies, for instance, it must be admitted, that there 
is a general conviction of the whole being but a fiction. I 
But, although persons enter the theatre with this general 
conviction, it does not always remain with them the 
whole time. At certain peculiarly interesting passages i 
in the poet, and at certain exhibitions of powerful and 
well-timed, effort in the actor, this general impression, that 
all is a fiction, fails. The feelings of the spectator may 
be said to rush into the scenes; he mingles in the events' • 
carried away and lost, he for a moment believes all to be 
real, and the tears gush at the catastrophe which he wit¬ 
nesses. The explanation, therefore, of the emotions felt 
at the exhibition of a tragedy, such as indignation, pity, 
and abhorrence, is, that at certain parts of the exhibition 
we have a momentary belief in the reality of the events 


SIMPLICITY AND COMPLEXNESS OF MENTAL STATES. 83 

which are represented. And after the illustrations which 
have been given, such a belief cannot be considered im¬ 
possible.—The same explanation will apply to the emo¬ 
tions which follow our reading of tragedies when alone, 
or any other natural and affecting descriptions. In the 
world of conceptions which the genius of the writer 
conjures up, we are transported out of the world of real 
existence, and for a while fully believe in the reality of 
what is only an incantation. 


CHAPTER IX. 

SIMPLICITY AND COMPLEXNESS OF MENTAL STATES. 

$ 67. Origin of the distinction of simple and complex. 

In looking at our thoughts and feelings, as they con* 
tinually pass under the review of our internal observation, 
we readily perceive that they are not of equal worth; we 
do not assign to them the same estimate ; one state of 
mind is found to be expressive of one thing only, and that 
thing, whatever it is, is precise, and definite, and insep¬ 
arable ; while another state of mind is found to be ex¬ 
pressive of, and virtually equal to, many others. And 
hence we are led, not only with the utmost propriety, but 
even by a sort of necessity, to make a division of the 
whole body of our mental affections into the two classes 
of simple and complex. Nature herself makes the divis¬ 
ion ; it is one of those characteristics which gives to the 
mind, in part at least, its greatness; one of those elements 
of power, without which the soul could not be what it is, 
and without a knowledge of which it is difficult to pos¬ 
sess a full and correct understanding of it in other respects. 

$ 68. Nature and characteristics of simple mental states. 

We shall first offer some remarks on those mental states 
which are simple, and shall aim to give an understanding 
of their nature, so far as can be expected on a subject, 
the clearness of which depends more on a reference to 



84 


SIMPLICITY AND COMPLEXNESS 


our own personal consciousness than on the teachings of 
others. 

Let it be noticed then, in the first place, that a simple 
idea cannot be separated into parts. —It is clearly im¬ 
plied in the very distinction between simplicity and com- ; 
plexity, considered in relation to the states of the mind, 
that there can be no such separation, no such division. It 
is emphatically true of our simple ideas and emotions, and 
of all other simple states of the mind, that they are one 
and indivisible. Whenever you can detect in them more 
than one element, they at once lose their character of 
simplicity, and are to be regarded as complex, however 
they may have previously appeared. Inseparableness 
consequently is their striking characteristic 3 and it may 
be added, that they are not only inseparable in them¬ 
selves, but are separate from everything else. There is 
nothing which can stand as a substitute for them where 
they are, or represent them where they are not 3 they are 
independent unities, constituted exclusively by the mind 
itself, having a specific and positive character, but never¬ 
theless known only in themselves. 

§ 69. Simple mental states not susceptible of definition. 

Let it be observed, in the second place, that our simple 
notions cannot be defined.— This view of them follows 
necessarily from what has been said of their oneness and 
inseparableness, compared with what is universally un¬ 
derstood by defining. In respect to definitions, it is un¬ 
doubtedly true, that we sometimes use synonymous words, 
and call such use a definition; but it is not properly such. 
In every legitimate definition, the idea which is to be de¬ 
fined is to be separated, as far as may be thought neces¬ 
sary, into its subordinate parts 3 and these parts are to be 
presented to the mind for its examination, instead of the 
original notion into which they entered. This process 
must be gone through in every instance of accurate de¬ 
fining 3 this is the general and authorized view of defini¬ 
tion ; and it is not easy to see in what else it can well 
consist. 

But this process will not apply to our simple thoughts 
and feelings, because, if there be any such thing as sim- 



OF MENTAL STATES. 


85 


pie mental states, they are characterized by inseparable¬ 
ness and oneness. And furthermore, if we define ideas 
by employing other ideas, we must count upon meeting 
at last with such as shall be ultimate, and will reject all 
verbal explanation; otherwise we can never come to an 
end in the process.—So that the simple mental affections 
are not only undefinable in themselves; but if there were 
no such elementary states of mind, there could be no de¬ 
fining in any other case; it would be merely analysis 
upon analysis, a process without completion, and a labour 
without end; leaving the subject in as much darkness as 
when the process was begun. 

When we speak of simple ideas and feelings, and a 
person, in consequence of our inability to define them, 
professes to be ignorant of the terms we use, we can fre¬ 
quently aid him in understanding them by a statement 
of the circumstances, as far as possible, under which the 
simple mental state exists. But having done this, we can 
merely refer him to his own senses and consciousness, as 
the only teachers from which he can expect to receive 
satisfaction. 

$ 70. Simple mental states representative of a reality. 

A third mark or characteristic of simple mental states 
is, that they always stand for or represent a reality.— 
In other words, no simple idea is, in its own nature, de¬ 
lusive or fictitious, but always has something precisely 
corresponding to it.—It is not always so with complex 
ideas; these, as Mr. Locke justly gives us to understand, 
are sometimes chimerical. That is to say; the elements 
of which they are composed are so brought together and 
combined as to form something, of which nature presents 
no corresponding reality. If, for instance, a person had 
an idea of a body, yellow, or of some other colour, malle¬ 
able, fixed; possessing, in a word, all the qualities of iron 
or of gold, with this difference only, of its being lighter 
than water, it would be what Mr. Locke terms a chimer¬ 
ical idea; because the combination of the elements here 
exists only in the human mind, and not in nature; the 
thing has no outward or objective reality. The words 
CENTAUR, DRAGON, and hypogriff, which are the well- 


86 


SIMPLICITY AND COMPLEXNESS 


known names for imaginary beings possessing no actual 
existence, are expressive of chimerial complex ideas. 
These ideas have nothing corresponding to them. But it 
is not so with the simple states of the mind. If it were 
otherwise, since in our inquiries after truth we naturally 
proceed from what is complex to what is simple, there 
would be no sure foundation of knowledge. Whenever, 
in our analysis of a subject, we arrive at truly simple 
ideas, we have firm footing; there is no mistake, no de¬ 
lusion. Nature, always faithful to her own character, 
gives utterance to the truth alone. But man, in combi¬ 
ning together the elements which nature furnishes, does 
not always avoid mistakes. 

§71. Origin of complex notions, and their relation to simple. 

Our simple states of mind, which we have thus endeav¬ 
oured to explain, were probably first in origin. There are 
reasons for considering them as antecedent in point of 
time to our complex mental states, although in many cases 
it may not be easy to trace the progress of the mind from 
the one to the other. The complex notions of external 
material objects embrace the separate and simple notions- 
of resistance, extension, hardness, colour, taste, and others. 
As these elementary perceptions evidently have their ori¬ 
gin in distinct and separate senses, it is but reasonable to 
suppose that they possess a simple, before 'they are com¬ 
bined together in a complex existence. Simple ideas, 
therefore, may justly be regarded as antecedent, in point 
of time, to those which are complex, and as laying the 
foundation of them. 

Hence we see that it is sufficiently near the truth, and 
that it is not improper, to speak of our complex ideas as 
derived from, or made up of, simple ideas. This is the 
well-known language of Mr. Locke on this subject; and 
when we consider how much foundation there is for it in 
the constitution and operations of the human mind, there 
is good reason for retaining it.—Although purely simple 
states of the mind are few in number, vast multitudes of 
a complex nature are formed from them. The ability 
which the mind possesses of originating complex thoughts 
and feelings from elementary ones, may be compared to 


OF MENTAL STATES. 


87 


our power of uniting together the letters of the alphabet 
in the formation of syllables and words. 

$ 72. Supposed complexness without the antecedence o.f simple feelings. 

It is possible that some persons may object to the doc¬ 
trine proposed in the last section, that complex mental 
states are subsequent in point of time to those which are 
simple; and may be inclined to adopt the opinion, that 
some, at least, of our complex notions are framed at once 
and immediately, whenever an occasion presents itself, 
and are not necessarily dependent on the prior existence 
of any other feelings. When the eye, for instance, opens 
on a wide and diversified landscape, they suppose the 
whole to be embraced in one complex mental state, the 
formation of which is not gradual and susceptible of 
measurement by time, but is truly instantaneous. When 
•we direct our attention to objects of less extent, as a por¬ 
trait, a landscape, or historical painting, they imagine it 
to be still more evident, that the complexity of mind, cor¬ 
responding to the complexity of the object, is a result 
without any antecedent process. Without doubt, what 
has now been said is, in some instances, apparently the 
case; but this appearance (for we cannot speak of it as 
anything more than such) is susceptible of an obvious ex¬ 
planation, wdthout an abandonment of the general princi¬ 
ple which has been laid down. No one is ignorant that 
the mind often passes with exceeding rapidity along the 
successive objects of its contemplation. This rapidity 
may, in some cases, be so great, that no foundation will 
be laid for remembrance; and of course, in such cases, 
the complex feeling has the appearance of being formed 
without the antecedence of other simple, feelings. Often 
the eye glances so rapidly over the distinct parts of the 
portrait, the historical painting, or even the wide land¬ 
scape, that we are utterly unable in our recollection to 
detect the successive steps of its progress.. There natu¬ 
rally seems, therefore, to be but one view T , instead of dis¬ 
tinct and successive glances of the mind from hill to hill, 
from forest to forest, and from one verdant spot to an¬ 
other, prior to the supposed one and instantaneous com¬ 
prehension of the whole. But there is much reason for 


88 


SIMPLICITY AND COMPLEXNESS 


saying that this oneness of comprehension is in seeming 
and appearance only, and not in fact. (See § 57, 58.) 

4 73. The precise sense in which complexness is to be understood. 

But while we distinctly assert the frequent complexness 
of the mental affections, it should be particularly kept in 
mind, that they are not to be regarded in the light of a 
material compound, where the parts, although it may 
sometimes appear to be otherwise, necessarily possess no 
higher unity than that of juxtaposition, and, of course, 
can be literally separated from each other, and then put 
together again. There is nothing of this kind ; neither 
putting together nor taking asunder, in this literal and 
material sense.—But if our thoughts and feelings are not 
made up of others, and are not complex in the material 
sense of the expression, what then constitutes their com¬ 
plexness 1 This inquiry gives occasion for the impor¬ 
tant remark, that complexness in relation to the mind is 
not literal, but virtual only. What we term a complex 
feeling is in itself truly simple, but at the same time it is 
equal to many others, and is complex only in that sense. 
Thought after thought, and emotion following emotion, 
passes through the mind ; and as they are called forth by 
the operation of the laws of association, many of them 
necessarily have relation to the same object. Then there 
follows a new state of mind, which is the result of those 
previous feelings, and is complex in the sense already ex¬ 
plained. That is to say, it is felt by us to possess a vir¬ 
tual equality to those separate antecedent thoughts and 
emotions. Our simple feelings are like streams comma* 
from different mountains, but meeting and mingling to¬ 
gether at last in the common centre of some intermediate 
lake; the tributary fountains are no longer separable; 
but have disappeared, and become merged and confound¬ 
ed in the bosom of their common resting-place. Or they 
may be likened to the cents and dimes of the American 
coinage, tens and hundreds of which are represented by 
a single eagle ; and yet the eagle is not divided into a 
hundred or thousand parts, but has as much unity as the 
numerous pieces for which it stands. 

The language which expresses the composition and 


OF MENTAL STATES. 


89 


complexity of thought is, therefore, to be regarded as 
wholly metaphorical when applied to the mind, and is 
not to be taken in its literal meaning. We are under the 
necessity of employing in this case, as in others, language 
which has a material origin, but we shall not be led 
astray by it if we carefully attend to what has been said, 
and endeavour to aid our conception of it by a reference 
to our internal experience. 

§ 74. Illustrations of analysis as applied to the mind. 

The subject of the preceding section will be the better 
understood by the consideration of Analysis as applicable to 
the mind. As we do not combine literally, so we do not 
untie or separate literally; as there is no literal complex¬ 
ness, so there is no literal resolution or analysis of it. 
Nevertheless, we have a meaning when we speak of 
analyzing our thoughts and feelings. And what is it 1 
What are we to understand by the term analysis 1 

Although this subject is not without difficulty, both in 
the conception and in the expression of it, it is susceptible 
of some degree of illustration.—It will be remembered 
that there may be an analysis of material bodies. The 
chemist analyzes when he takes a piece of glass, which 
appears to be one substance, and finds that it is not one, 
but is separable into silicious and alkaline matter. He 
takes other bodies, and separates them in like manner; 
and whenever he does this, the process is rightly called 
analysis. 

Now we apply the same term to the mind; but the 
thing expressed by it, the process gone through, is not 
the same. All we can say is, there is something like this. 
We do not resolve and separate a complex thought, as 
we do a piece of glass or other material body, into its 
parts; we are utterly unable to do it, if we should se¬ 
riously make the attempt; every mental state is, in itself 
and in fact, simple and indivisible, and is complex only 
virtually. Complex notions are the results rather than 
the compounds of former feelings ; and though not liter¬ 
ally made up of parts, have the relation to them which 
any material whole has to the elements composing it; 
and in that particular sense may be said to comprehend 


90 


SIMPLICITY AND COMPLEXNESS 


or embrace the subordinate notions. Mental analysis ac¬ 
cordingly concerns merely this relation. We perform 
such an analysis when, by the aid of our reflection and 
consciousness, we are able to indicate those separate and 
subordinate feelings to which, in our conception of it, 
the complex mental state is virtually equal. 

The term government, for instance, when used in ref¬ 
erence to the mental perception of the thing thus named, 
expresses a complex state of the mind; we may make , 
this mental state, which is in fact only one, although it is 
virtually more than one, a subject of contemplation ; and 
we are said to analyze it when we are able to indicate 
those separate and more elementary notions, without the 
existence and antecedence of which it could not have 
been formed by the mind. We do not literally take the 
complex state in pieces, but we designate other states of 
mind which, every one’s knowledge of the origin of 
thought convinces him, must have preceded it, such as the 
ideas of power, right, obligation, command, and the rela¬ 
tive notions of superior and inferior. 

$ 75. Complex notions of external origin. 

The doctrine of simplicity and complexness of mental 
states^ is applicable, in both its forms, to the Intellective 
and Sensitive parts of our nature; in other words, there 
may be a complex affection or passion, as well as a com¬ 
plex perception. The acts of the Will, the other great 
Division of the mental nature, are always simple. When 
we consider the subject in reference to the intellect alone, 
we may add further, that there is complexity of the In¬ 
tellect both in its internal and external action; and it 
seems proper, in this connexion, to say something in par¬ 
ticular of COMPLEX NOTIONS OF EXTERNAL ORIGIN. 

What we term our simple ideas are representative of 
the parts of objects only. The sensations of colour, such 
as red, white, yellow; the original intimations from the 
touch, such as resistance, extension, hardness, and softness, 
do not, in themselves considered, give us a knowledge of 
substances, but only of the parts, attributes, or elements 
of substances. Accordingly, the ideas which we have of 
the various objects of the external world are, for the 


OF MENTAL STATES. 


91 


most part, complex. We speak of a house, a tree, a 
! flower, a plant, a mineral, an animal; and in none of 
these cases are the ideas which we have simple; but, on 
* the contrary, embrace a considerable number of elements. 

1 $ 76. Of objects contemplated as wholes. 

In point of fact, the various external objects which 
come under our notice are presented to us as wholes; 
and, as such, (whatever may have been the original pro- 
; cess leading to that result,) we very early contemplate 
them.—Take, for instance, a loadstone. In their ordinary 
and common thoughts upon it, (the result probably of 
some antecedent and very early training), men undoubted¬ 
ly contemplate it as a whole; the state of mind which 
has reference to it embraces it as such. This complex 
notion, like all others which are complex, is virtually equal 
to a number of others of a more elementary character.— 
Hence, when we are called upon to give an account of 
the loadstone, we can return no other answer than by an 
enumeration of its elements. It is something which has 
weight, colour, hardness, power to draw iron, and what¬ 
ever else we discover in it. 

We use the term gold. This is a complex term, and 
I implies a complexity in the corresponding mental state. 
But if we use the word gold, or any other synonymous 
word, in the hearing of a man who has neither seen that 
substance nor had it explained to him, he will not under¬ 
stand what is meant to be conveyed. We must enter 
into an analysis; and show that it is a combination of 
the qualities of yellowness, great weight, fusibility, duc¬ 
tility, &c. We look upward to the sun in the heavens. 
But what should we know of that great aggregate, if we 
could not contemplate it in the elements of form and ex¬ 
tension, of brightness and heat, of roundness and regu¬ 
larity of motion ?—All the ideas, therefore, which we 
form of external objects considered as wholes, are com¬ 
plex; and all such complex notions are composed of 
those which are simple. 





92 


ABSTRACTION. 


CHAPTER X. 

ABSTRACTION. 

§ 77. Abstraction implied in the analysis of complex ideas. 

The remarks which have been made in the course of 
the foregoing chapter, on the analysis and examination 
of our Complex Intellectual states, naturally lead to the 
consideration of another subject, in some respects inti¬ 
mately connected with that topic. When we have once 
formed a complex notion (no matter at what period, in 
what way, or of what kind,) it not unfrequently happens 
that we desire, for various reasons, to examine more par¬ 
ticularly some of its parts. Very frequently this is abso¬ 
lutely necessary to the full understanding of it. Although 
undoubtedly its elementary parts once came under re¬ 
view, that time is now long past; it has become impor¬ 
tant to institute a new inspection, to take each simple 
notion involved in it, and examine it by itself. And this 
is done by means of the process of Abstraction, and in 
no other way. 

By the aid of that process, our complex notions, how¬ 
ever comprehensive they may be, are susceptible, if one 
may be allowed so to speak, of being taken to pieces, 
and the elementary parts may be abstracted or separated 
from each other; that is, they are made subjects of con¬ 
sideration apart from other ideas, with which they are 
ordinarily found to be associated. And hence, whenever 
this is the case in respect to the states of the mind, they 
are sometimes called Abstractions, and still more fre¬ 
quently are known by the name of abstract ideas. —For 
the purpose of distinctness in what we have to say, they 
may be divided into the two classes of Particular and 
General; that is to say, in some cases the abstraction re¬ 
lates only to a single idea or element, in others it in¬ 
cludes more. 



ABSTRACTION. 


93 


$ 78. Instances of particular abstract ideas. 

We shall proceed, therefore, to remark first on Particu¬ 
lar abstractions. Of this class, the notions which we 
form of the different kinds of colours may be regarded as 
instances. For example, we held in our hand a rose; it 
has extension, colour, form, fragrance. The mind is 
so deeply occupied with the colour as almost wholly to 
neglect the other qualities. This is a species of abstrac¬ 
tion, although perhaps an imperfect one, because, when 
an object is before us, it is difficult, in our most attentive 
consideration of any particular quality or property, to 
withdraw the mind wholly from the others. When, on 
the contrary, any absent object of perception occurs to us, 
when we think of or form a conception of it, our thoughts 
will readily fix upon the colour of such object, and make 
that the subject of consideration, without particularly 
regarding its other qualities, such as weight, hardness, 
taste, form, &c. We may also distinguish in any body 
(either when present, or still more perfectly when absent) 
its solidity from its extension, or we may direct our atten¬ 
tion to its weight, or its length, or breadth, or thickness, 
and make any one of these a distinct object in our thoughts. 

And hence, as it is a well-known fact that the proper¬ 
ties of any body may be separated in the view and ex¬ 
amination of the mind, however closely they may be con¬ 
nected in their appropriate subjects, we may lay down 
this statement in respect to the states of the mind before 
us, viz.: When any quality or attribute of an object, 
which does not exist by itself, but in a state of combina¬ 
tion, is detached by our minds from its customary associ¬ 
ates, and is considered separately, the notion we form of 
it becomes a particular abstract idea.-—The distinctive 
mark of this class is, that the abstraction is limited to one 

1 quality. It should perhaps be particularly added, that 
the abstraction or separation may exist mentally, when it 
cannot take place in the object itself. For instance, the 
size, the figure, length, breadth, colour, &c., of a building, 
may each of them be made subjects of separate mental 
consideration, although there can be no real or actual sep¬ 
aration of these things in the building itself. If there be 
any one of these properties, there must necessarily be all. 




94 


ABSTRACTION. 


§ 79. Mental process in separating and abstracting them. 

The manner of expressing ourselves on the subject of 
our abstract notions, to which we have been accustomed, 
is apt to create and cherish a belief in the existence of a 
separate mental faculty, adapted solely to this particular 
purpose. But the doctrine of a power or faculty of ab¬ 
straction, which is exclusive of other mental susceptibili¬ 
ties, and is employed solely for this purpose, does not ap¬ 
pear to be well founded. It will convey an impression 
nearer the truth to speak of the process rather than the 
power of abstraction.—The following statement will be 
sufficient to show how those of the first class, or particu¬ 
lar abstract ideas, are formed. 

Although our earliest notions, whether they arise from 
the senses or are of an internal origin, are simple, exist¬ 
ing in an independent and separate state, yet those sim¬ 
ple thoughts are very soon found to unite together with a 
considerable degree of permanency, and out of them are 
formed complex states of mind. Many are in this way 
combined together in one, and the question is, how this 
combination is to be loosened, and the elementary parts 
are to be extracted from their present complexity 1 

In answer, it may be said that, in every case of separ¬ 
ating a particular abstract idea, there must necessarily be 
a determination, a choice, an act of the will. This vol¬ 
untary state of mind must concern the previous complex 
mental state, when viewed in one respect, rather than 
another; or, what is the same thing, it will concern one 
part of the complex idea rather than another. So that 
we may truly and justly be said to have not only a desire, 
but a determination to consider or examine some part of 
the complex idea more particularly than the others. 
When the mind is in this manner directed to any partic¬ 
ular part of a complex notion, we find it to be the fact, 
that the principle of association, or whatever principle it 
is which keeps the other parts in their state of union with 
it, ceases, in a greater or less degree, to operate and to 
maintain that union; the other parts rapidly fall off and 
disappear, and the particular quality, towards which the 
mind is especially directed, remains the sole subject of 
consideration. That is to say, it is abstracted, or becomes 


ABSTRACTION. 


95 


; an abstract idea.—If, for example, we have in mind the 
of complex notion of any object, a house, tree, plant, flow¬ 
ed,; er, and the like, but have a desire and determination to 
a make the colour, which forms a part of this complex no- 
ar tion, a particular subject of attention, the consequence is, 
il> that, while the quality of colour occupies our chief re- 
li. gard, the other qualities will disappear and no more be 

p. thought of. If we determine to examine the weight or 
3D extension of an object, the result will be the same ; in 
ie other words, the extension, weight, colour, &c., becoming 
je distinct and exclusive objects of attention, will be ab- 

q. stracted. 

(This, in the formation of particular abstract ideas, 
d seems to be the process of the mind, and nothing more; 

!• viz., The direction of an act of the will to a particular 
i* part of a complex notion, and the consequent detention of 
a the part towards which the mental choice is directed, and 
the natural and necessary disappearance, under such cir- 
i| cumstances, of the other parts. 

$ 80. General abstract notions the same with genera and species. 

We proceed now to consider the other class of abstract 
Jj ideas.—General Abstract ideas are not only different, in 
I consequence of embracing a greater number of elementa¬ 
ry parts, from those which are Particular, but are also sus- 
'I ceptible of being distinguished from the great body of our 
other complex notions.—The idea, for example, which 
we form of any individual, of John, Peter, or James, is 
evidently a complex one, but it is not necessarily a gen¬ 
eral one. The notion which we frame of a particular 
horse or of a particular tree, is likewise a complex idea, but 
not a general one. There will be found to be a clear dis¬ 
tinction between^ them, although it may not be perfectly 
obvious at first. ^General abstract ideas are our notions 
of the classes of objects, that is, of Genera and Species; 
They are expressed by general names, without, in most 
cases, any defining or limitation, as when we use the 
words ANIMAL, MAN, HORSE, BIRD, SHEEP, FISH, TREE, not to 
express any one in particular of these various classes, but 
animals, men, horses, &c., in general. 



96 


ABSTRACTION. 


$ 81. Process in classification, or the formingof genera and species. 

Now if our general abstract ideas, so far as they relate 
to external objects, are truly notions of species and gen¬ 
era, it will aid us in the better understanding of them if 
we briefly consider how species and genera are formed. 
Men certainly find no great practical difficulty in forming 
these classifications, since we find that they do in fact 
make them in numberless instances, and at a very early 
period of life. They seem to be governed in the process 
by definite and uniform mental tendencies.—What, then, 
in point of fact, is the process in classification ? It is ob¬ 
vious, in the first place, that no classification can be made 
without considering two or more objects together. A 
number of objects, therefore, are first presented to us for 
our observation and inquiry, which are to be examined 
first in themselves, and then in comparison with each 
other. We will take a familiar scene to illustrate what 
takes place. 

We suppose ourselves to stand on the bank of a navi¬ 
gable river; we behold the flowing of its waters, the 
cliffs that overhang it, the trees that line its shore, the 
boats and boatmen on its bosom, the flocks and herds that 
press down to drink from its waves. With such a scene 
before us, it is to be expected that the mind will rapidly 
make each and all of these the subjects of its contem¬ 
plation ; nor does it pursue this contemplation and inquiry 
far, without perceiving certain relations of agreement or 
difference. Certain objects before it are felt to be essen¬ 
tially alike, and others to be essentially different; and 
hence they are not all arranged in one class, but a dis¬ 
crimination is made, and different classes are formed. 
The flocks and herds are formed into their respective 
classes. The tall and leafy bodies on the river’s bank, 
although they differ from each other in some respects, are 
yet found to agree in so many others, that they are ar¬ 
ranged together in another class, and called by the gen¬ 
eral name of tree. The living, moving, and reasoning 
beings that propel the boats on its waters, form another 
class, and are called man.— And there is the same process 
and the same result in respect to all other bodies coming 
within the range of our observation. 


ABSTRACTION. 


97 


$ 82. Early classifications sometimes incorrect. 

It has been intimated, that, in making these classifica¬ 
tions, men are governed by definite and uniform mental 
tendencies; still it must be acknowledged that mistakes 
are sometimes committed, especially in the early periods 
of society, and in all cases where the opportunities of ex¬ 
amination and comparison are imperfect. When man 
first opens his eyes on nature, (and in the infancy of our 
race he finds himself a novice wherever he goes,) objects 
so numerous, so various in kind, so novel and interesting, 
crowd upon his attention, that, attempting to direct him¬ 
self to all at the same time, he loses sight of their specif- 
ical differences, and blends them together more than a 
calm and accurate examination would justify. And 
hence it is not to be wondered at that our earliest classi¬ 
fications, the primitive genera and species, are sometimes 
incorrectly made. 

Subsequently, when knowledge has been in some meas¬ 
ure amassed, and reasoning and observation have been 
brought to a greater maturity, these errors are attended to; 
individuals are rejected from species where they do not 
properly belong, and species from genera. The most sav¬ 
age and ignorant tribes will in due season correct their 
mistakes and be led into the truth. 

$ 83. Illustrations of our earliest classifications. 

We are naturally led to introduce one or two incidents 
here which throw light on this part of our subject. 
What we wish to illustrate is the simple fact that men 
readily perceive the resemblances of objects, and exhibit 
a disposition to classify them in reference to such resem¬ 
blance. The first case which we shall mention in illus¬ 
tration of this, is that of Caspar Hauser. The principal 
objects which Caspar had to amuse himself with in his pris¬ 
on were two little wooden horses, which, in his entire ig¬ 
norance, he believed to be possessed of life and sensibility. 
After the termination of his imprisonment, his biographer 
informs us, that to “ every animal he met with, whether 
quadruped or biped, dog, cat, goose, or fowl, he gave the 
name of horse.” 

In the year 1814, Pitcairn’s Island, a solitary spot in 


98 


ABSTRACTION. 


the Pacific Ocean, was visited by two English cruisers.’ 
Two of the young men that belonged on the island, and 
whose knowledge was, of course, extremely limited, came 
on board one of the vessels. “ The youths,” says the 
Narrative, " were greatly surprised at the sight of so 
many novel objects; the size of the ship, the guns, and 
everything around them. Observing a cow, they were at 
first somewhat alarmed, and expressed a doubt whether it 
was a huge goat or a horned hog, these being the only 
two species of quadrupeds they had ever seen.”—Travel¬ 
lers mention other instances where there is the same ten¬ 
dency to classify, which we have not room to repeat. 

$ 84. Of the nature of general abstract ideas. 

The notions which are thus formed in all cases of class¬ 
ification, are commonly known, in the Treatises having 
relation to these subjects, as General Abstract ideas. 
And they are no less numerous than the multiplied varie¬ 
ties of objects which are found to exist everywhere around 
us. It is thus that we form the general notions of animal 
and of all the subordinate species of animals; of tree and 
its numerous varieties; of earths, and minerals, and what¬ 
ever else is capable of being arranged into classes. 

But it is to be noticed that the general idea, whatever 
objects it may be founded upon, does not embrace every 
particular which makes a part of such objects. When we 
look at a number of men, we find them all differing in 
some respects, in height, size, colour, tone of the voice, and 
in other particulars. The mind fixes only upon those 
traits or properties with which it can combine the no¬ 
tion of resemblance ; that is to say, those traits, qualities, 
or properties in which the individuals are perceived to be 
like, or to resemble each other.—The complex mental 
state, which embraces these qualities and properties, and 
nothing more, (with the exception of the superadded 
notion of other bodies having resembling qualities,) is a 
General Abstract idea. 

And hence the name. Such notions are called ab¬ 
stract, because, while embracing many individuals in 
certain respects, they detach and leave out altogether a 
variety of particulars in which those individuals disagree. 


ABSTRACTION. 


99 


If there were not this discrimination and leaving out of 
certain parts, we never could consider these notions, re¬ 
garded as wholes, as otherwise than individual or partic¬ 
ular.—They are called general, because, in consequence 
of the discrimination and selection which has just been 
mentioned, they embrace such qualities and properties as 
exist not in one merely, but in many. 

$ 85. The power of general abstraction in connexion with numbers, &c. 

The ability which the mind possesses of forming gen¬ 
eral abstract ideas, is of much practical importance. It is 
not easy to estimate the increase of power which is thus 
given to the action of the human mind, particularly in 
reasoning. By means of general abstract propositions, 
we are able to state volumes in a few sentences; that is 
to say, the truths, stated and illustrated in a few general 
propositions, would fill volumes in their particular appli¬ 
cations. 

Without the ability of forming general notions, we 
should not be able to number, even in the smallest de¬ 
gree. Before we can consider objects as forming a mul¬ 
titude, or are able to number them, it seems necessary to 
be able to apply to them a common name. This we can¬ 
not do until we have reduced them to a genus; and the 
formation of a genus implies the power (or process, rath¬ 
er) of abstraction. Consequently, we should be unable, 
without such power, to number.—How great, then, is the 
practical importance of that intellectual process by which 
general abstractions are formed!—Without the ability to 
number, we should be at a loss in our investigations 
where this ability is required; without the power to class¬ 
ify, all our speculations must be limited to particulars, and 
we should be capable of no general reasoning. 

$86. Of general abstract truths or principles. 

There are not only general abstract ideas, but abstract 
truths or principles also of a general nature, which are 
deserving of some attention, especially in a practical 
point of view. Although enough has already been said 
to show the importance of abstraction, it may yet be de¬ 
sirable to have a more full view of its applications. 


100 


ABSTRACTION. 


The process, in forming general truths or principles of 
an abstract nature, seems to be this. We must begin 
undoubtedly with the examination and study of particu¬ 
lars; with individual objects and characters, and with 
insulated events. We subsequently confirm the truth of 
whatever has been ascertained in such inquiry, by an ob¬ 
servation of other like objects and events. We proceed 
from one individual to another, till no doubt remains.— 
Having in this way arrived at some general fact or prin¬ 
ciple, w r e thenceforward throw aside the consideration of 
the particular objects on which it is founded, and make 
it alone, exclusively and abstractly, the subject of our 
mental contemplations. We repeat this process again 
and again, till the mind, instead of being wholly taken 
up with a multitude of particulars, is stored with truths 
of a general kind. These truths it subsequently combines 
in trains of reasoning, compares together, and deduces 
from them others of still wider application. 

§ 87. Of the speculations of philosophers and others. 

What has been said leads us to observe, that there is a 
characteristical difference between the speculations of men 
of philosophic minds and those of the common mass of 
people, which is worthy of some notice. The difference 
between the two is not so much, that philosophers are 
accustomed to carry on processes of reasoning to a great¬ 
er extent, as this, that they are more in the habit of em¬ 
ploying general abstract ideas and general terms, and 
that, consequently, the conclusions which they form are 
more comprehensive. Nor are their general reasonings, 
although the conclusions at which they arrive seem, in 
their particular applications, to indicate wonderful fertil¬ 
ity of invention, so difficult in the performance as is apt 
to be supposed. They have so often and so long looked 
at general ideas and general propositions; have been so 
accustomed, as one may say, to contemplate the general 
nature of things, divested of all superfluous and all spe¬ 
cific circumstances, that they have formed a habit; mid 
the operation is performed without difficulty. It requires 
in such persons no greater intellectual effort than would 
be necessary in skilfully managing the details of ordinary 
business. J 


OF ATTENTION. 


101 


The speculations of the great bulk of mankind differ 
from those of philosophers in being, both in the subjects 
of them and in their results, particular. They discover 
an inability to enlarge their view to universal propositions, 
which embrace a great number of individuals. They may 
possess the power of mere argument, of comparing propo¬ 
sitions together which concern particulars, and deducing- 
inferences from them to a great degree; but when they 
attempt to contemplate general propositions, their minds 
are perplexed, and the conclusions which are drawn from 
them appear obscure, however clearly the previous pro¬ 
cess of reasoning may have been expressed. 


CHAPTER XI. 

OF ATTENTION. 

$ 88. Of the general nature of attention. 

Without considering it necessary to speak of attention 
as a separate intellectual power or faculty, as some may 
be inclined to do, it seems to be sufficient to say, that at¬ 
tention expresses the state of the mind, when it is stead¬ 
ily directed, for a length of time, to some object of sense 
or intellect, exclusive of other objects. When we say 
that any external object, or any subject of thought which 
is purely internal, receives attention, it seems to be the 
fact, as far as we are able to determine, that the intellect 
is occupied with the subject of its attention, whatever it 
is, for a certain period, and that all other things are, for 
the time being, shut out. In other words, the grasp which 
the perceptive power fixes upon the object of its contem¬ 
plations is an undivided, an unbroken one.—But this 
does not appear to be all. There is not only a distinct 
and exclusive mental perception 5 but also an act of the 
will, directing, condensing, and confining the perception. 
So that, in all cases of attention, the act of the mind may 
be regarded as a complex one, involving not only the 
mere perception or series of perceptions, but also an act 






102 


OF ATTENTION. 


of the will, founded on some feeling of desire or sentiment 
of duty. It is the act of the will, prompted in general 
by the feeling of desire or interest, which keeps the mind 
intense and fixed in its position. 

() 89. Of different degrees of attention. 

In agreement with this view of the subject, we often 
speak of attention as great or small, as existing in a very 
high or a very slight degree. When the view of the mind 
is only momentary, and is unaccompanied, as it generally 
is at such times, with any force of emotion or energy of 
volitive action, then the attention is said to be slight. 
When, on the contrary, the mind directs itself to an ob¬ 
ject, or series of objects, with earnestness, and for a con¬ 
siderable length of time, and refuses to attend to anything 
else, then the attention is said to be intense. 

We commonly judge at first of the degree of attention 
to a subject from the length of time during which the 
mind is occupied with it. But when we look a little 
further, it will be found that the time will generally de¬ 
pend upon the strength and permanency of the attendant 
emotion of interest. And hence, both the time and the 
degree of feeling are to be regarded in our estimate of 
the power of attention in any particular case ; the former 
being the result, and, in some sense, a measure of the 
latter. 

Of instances of people w r ho are able to give but slight 
attention to any subject of thought, who cannot bring 
their minds to it with steadiness and power, we every¬ 
where find multitudes, and there are some instances where 
this ability has been possessed in such a high degree as 
to be worthy of notice. There have been mathematicians 
who could investigate the most complicated problems 
amid every variety and character of disturbance. It was 
said of Julius Caesar, that, while writing a despatch, he 
could at the same time dictate four others to his secreta¬ 
ries ; and if he did not write himself, could dictate seven 
letters at once. The same thing is asserted also of the 
Emperor Napoleon, who had a wonderful capability of 
directing his whole mental energy to whatever came be¬ 
fore him.* 

* Segur’s History of the Expedition to Russia, bk. vii., ch. xiii. 


OF ATTENTION. 


103 


§ 90. Dependence of memory on attention. 

There seems to be no doctrine in mental philosophy 
more clearly established than this, that memory depends 
on attention; that is, where attention is very slight, re¬ 
membrance is weak, and where attention is intense, re¬ 
membrance continues longer.—There are many facts 
which confirm this statement. 

(1.) In the course of a single day, persons who are in 
the habit of winking will close their eyelids perhaps 
thousands of times, and, as often as they close them, will 
place themselves in utter darkness. Probably they are 
conscious at the time both of closing their eyelids and of 
being in the dark; but, as their attention is chiefly taken 
up with other things, they have entirely forgotten it— 
(2.) Let a person be much engaged in conversation, or 
occupied with any very interesting speculation, and the 
clock will strike in the room where he is, apparently 
without his having any knowledge of it. He hears the 
clock strike as much as at any other time, but, not at¬ 
tending to the perception of sound, and having his 
thoughts directed another way, he immediately forgets.— 
(3.) In the occupations of the day, when a multitude of 
cares are pressing us on every side, a thousand things 
escape our notice; they appear to be neither seen 
nor heard, nor to affect us in any way whatever. But 
at the stillness of evening, when anxieties and toils are 
quieted, and there is a general pause in nature, we seem 
to be endued with a new sense, and the slightest sound 
attracts our attention. Shakspeare has marked even this. 

“ The <3row doth sing as sweetly as the lark 
When neither is attended ; and, I think. 

The nightingale, if she should sing by day, 

When every goose is cackling, would be thought 
No better a musician than the wren.” 

It is on the same principle that people dwelling in the 
vicinity of waterfalls do not appear to notice the sound. 
The residents in the neighbourhood even of the great 
Cataract of Niagara are not seriously disturbed by it, al¬ 
though it is an unbroken, interminable thunder to all 
others.—The reason in all these cases is the same, as has 
already been given. There is no attention and no re¬ 
membrance, and, of course, virtually no perception. 

(4.) Whenever we read a book, we do not observe 




104 


OF ATTENTION. 


the words merely as a whole, but every letter of which 
they are made up, and even the minute parts of these let¬ 
ters. But it is merely a glance; it does not for any 
length of time occupy our attention; we immediately 
forget, and with great difficulty persuade ourselves that 
we have truly perceived the letters of the word. The 
fact that every letter is in ordinary cases observed by us, 
may be proved by leaving out a letter of the word, or by 
substituting others of a similar form. We readily, in 
reading, detect such omissions or substitutions. 

(5.) An expert accountant can sum up, almost with a 
single glance of the eye, a long column of figures. The 
operation is performed almost instantaneously, and yet he 
ascertains the sum of the whole with unerring certainty. 
It is impossible that he should learn the sum without no¬ 
ticing every figure in the whole column, and without al- ; 
lowing each its proper worth; but the attention to them : 
was so very slight, that he is unable to remember this i 
distinct notice. 

Many facts of this kind evidently show, as we think, 
that memory depends upon attention, or rather upon a con¬ 
tinuance of attention, and varies with that continuance. 

$ 91. Of exercising attention in reading. 

If attention, as we have seen, be requisite to memory, 
then we are furnished with a practical rule of considera¬ 
ble importance. The rule is, Not to give a hasty and 
careless reading of authors , but read them with a suitable 
degree of deliberation and thought. —If we are asked the 
reason of this direction, we find a good and satisfactory 
one in the fact referred to at the head of this section, 
that there cannot be memory without attention, or, rather, 
that the power of memory will vary with the degree of 
attention. . By yielding to the desire of becoming ac¬ 
quainted with a greater variety of departments of knowl- ! 
edge than the understanding is able to master, and, as a 
necessary consequence, by bestowing upon each of them 
only a very slight attention, we remain essentially igno¬ 
rant of the whole. 

(1.) The person who pursues such a course finds him¬ 
self unable to recall what he has been over; he has a 
great many half-formed notions floating in his mind, but 



OF ATTENTION. 


105 


these are so ill shaped and so little under his control as 
to be but little better than actual ignorance. This is one 
evil result of reading authors and of going over sciences 
in the careless way which has been specified, that the 
i knowledge thus acquired, if it can be called knowledge, 
j is of very little practical benefit, in consequence of being 
so poorly digested and so little under control.—(2.) But 
| there is another, and perhaps more serious evil. This 
I practice greatly disqualifies one for all intellectual pur- 
I suits. To store the mind with new ideas is only a part 
I of education. It is, at least, a matter of equal impor¬ 
tance, to impart to all the mental powers a suitable disci¬ 
pline, to exercise those that are strong, to strengthen 
I those that are weak, and to maintain among all of them 
a suitable balance. An attentive and thorough examina¬ 
tion of subjects is a training up of the mind in both these 
I respects. It furnishes it with that species of knowledge 
; which is most valuable, because it is not mixed up with 
errors; and, moreover, gives a strength and consistency 
to the whole structure of the intellect. Whereas, when the 
mind is long left at liberty to wander from object to object, 
without being called to account and subjected to the 
rules of salutary discipline, it entirely loses, at last, the 
ability to dwell upon the subjects of its thoughts, and ex¬ 
amine them. And, when this power is once lost, there is 
but little ground to expect any solid attainments. 

§ 92. Alleged inability to command the attention. 

We are aware that those who, in accordance with 
these directions, are required to make a close and thor¬ 
ough examination of subjects, will sometimes complain 
that they find a great obstacle in their inability to fix 
their attention. They are not wanting in ability to com¬ 
prehend ; but find it difficult to retain the mind in one po¬ 
sition so long as to enable them to connect together all the 
parts of a subject, and duly estimate their various bear¬ 
ings. When this intellectual defect exists, it becomes a 
new reason for that thorough examination of subjects, 
which has been above recommended. It has probably 
been caused by a neglect of such strictness of exami¬ 
nation, and by a too rapid and careless transition from 
one subject to another. 





106 


OF ATTENTION. 


Attention, it will be recollected, expresses the state 
of the mind when it is steadily directed for some time, 
whether longer or shorter, to some object of sense or in¬ 
tellect, exclusive of other objects. All other objects are 
shut out; and when this exclusion of everything else 
continues for some time, the attention is said to be in¬ 
tense.—Now it is well known that such an exclusive di¬ 
rection of the mind cannot exist for any long period 
without being accompanied with a feeling of desire or 
of duty. In the greatest intellectual exertions, not the 
mere powers of judging, of abstracting, and of reasoning; 
are concerned; there will also be a greater or less move¬ 
ment of the feelings. And it wall be found that no feel¬ 
ing will effectually confine the minds of men in scientific 
pursuits, but a love of the truth. 

Mr. Locke thought that the person who should discov¬ 
er a remedy for wandering thoughts would do a great | 
service to the studious and contemplative part of man¬ 
kind. We know of no other effective remedy than the 
one just mentioned, a love of the truth, a desire to 
know the nature and relations of things, merely for the 
sake of knowledge. It is true, that a conviction of duty 
will do much; ambition and interest may possibly do 
more; but when the mind is led to deep investigations 
by these views merely, without finding something beauti¬ 
ful and attractive in the aspect of knowledge itself, it is 
likely to prove a tiresome process. The excellence of 
knowledge, therefore, considered merely in the light of 
its being suited to the intellectual nature of man, and as 
the appropriate incentive and reward of intellectual ac- 
* tivity, ought to be frequently impressed.—“ I saw D’Alem¬ 
bert,” says a recent writer, “ congratulate a young man 
very coldly who brought him a solution of a problem. : 
The young man said, ‘ I have done this in order to have 
a seat in the Academy.’ ‘ Sir,’ answered D’Alembert, 
c with such dispositions you never will earn one. Sci¬ 
ence must be loved for its own sake, and not for the ad¬ 
vantage to be derived. No other principle will enable a 
man to make progress in the sciences!’ ”* 

* Memoirs of Montlosier, vol. i., page 58, as quoted in Mackintosh’s 
Ethical Philosophy, sect. vii. 


DREAMING. 


107 


CHAPTER XH. 

DREAMING. 

§ 93. Definition of dreams and the prevalence of them. 

Among numerous other subjects in mental philosophy 

I which claim their share of attention, that of Dreaming is 
entitled to its place; nor can we be certain that any other 
I will be found more appropriate to it than the present, es¬ 
pecially when we consider how closely it is connected in 
1 all its forms with our sensations and conceptions. And 
what are Dreams'? It approaches, perhaps, sufficiently 
near to a correct general description to say, that they are 
our mental states and operations while we are asleep. 
But the particular vie ws which are to be taken in the ex¬ 
amination of this subject will not fail to throw light on 
this general statement. 

The mental states and exercises which go under this 
name have ever excited much interest. It is undoubt¬ 
edly one reason of the attention, which the subject of our 
dreams has ever elicited among all classes of people, that 
I they are so prevalent; it being very difficult, if not im- 
| possible, to find a person who has not had more or less of 
' this experience. Mr. Locke, however, tells us of an in- 
I dividual who never dreamed till the twenty-sixth year of 
his age, when he happened to have a fever, and then 
dreamed for the first time. Plutarch also mentions one 
Cleon, a friend of his, who lived to an advanced age, and 
yet had never dreamed once in his life; and remarks that 
he had heard the same thing reported of Thrasymedes. 
Undoubtedly these persons dreamed very seldom, as we 
. find that some dream much more than others; but it is 
possible that they may have dreamed at some time and 
entirely forgotten it. So that it cannot with certainty be 
i inferred from such instances as these, that there are any 
j who are entirely exempt from dreaming. 

§ 94. Connexion of dreams with our waking thoughts. 

In giving an explanation of dreams, our attention is 







108 


DREAMING* 


first arrested by the circumstance that they hare an inti 
mate relationship with our waking thoughts. The grea 
body of our waking experiences appear in the form o 
trains of associations; and these trains of associated ideas 
in greater or less continuity, and with greater or less va 
riation, continue when we are asleep.—Condorcet (i 
name famous in the history of France) told some one 
that, while he was engaged in abstruse and profound cal 
culations, he was frequently obliged to leave them in ai 
unfinished state, in order to retire to rest, and that the re¬ 
maining steps and the conclusion of his calculations hav< ' 
more than once presented themselves in his dreams.— 
Franklin also has made the remark, that the bearings anc ■ 
results of political events, which had caused him mucl f 
trouble while awake, were not unfrequently unfolded tc 
him in dreaming.—Mr. Coleridge says, that, as he was 
once reading in the Pilgrimage of Purchas an account of ■ 
the palace and garden of the Khan Kubla, he fell into a : 
sleep, and in that situation composed an entire poem of : 
not less than two hundred lines, some of which he after- • 
ward committed to writing. The poem is entitled Kubla 
Khan, and begins as follows : 

“In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 
A stately pleasure-dome decree; 

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran 
Through caverns measureless to man 
Down to a sunless sea.” 

It is evident from such statements as these, which are [ 
confirmed by the experience of almost every person, that r 
our dreams are fashioned from the materials of the thoughts i 
and feelings which we have while awake; in other words, ; 
they will, in a great degree, be' merely the repetition of j 
our customary and prevailing associations. So well un¬ 
derstood is this, that President Edwards, who was no less 
distinguished as a mental philosopher than as a theolo¬ 
gian, thought it a good practice to take particular notice 
of his dreams, in order to ascertain from them what his 
predominant inclinations were. 

$ 95. Dreams are often caused by our sensations. 

But while we are to look for the materials of our 
dreams in thoughts which had previously existed, we 



DREAMING. 


109 


further find that they are not beyond the influence of 
those slight bodily sensations of which we are susceptible 
even in hours of sleep. These sensations, slight as they 
are, are the means of introducing one set of associations 
rather than another.—Dugald Stewart relates an incident 
which may be considered an evidence of this, that a per¬ 
son with whom he was acquainted had occasion, in con¬ 
sequence of an indisposition, to apply a bottle of hot water 
to his feet when he went to bed, and the consequence 
Was, that he dreamed he was making a journey to the 
top of Mount iEtna, and that he found the heat of the 
ground almost insupportable. There was once a gentle¬ 
man in the English army who was so susceptible of audi¬ 
ble impressions while he was asleep, that his companions 
could make him dream of what they pleased. Once, in 
particular, they made him go through the whole process 
of a duel, from the preliminary arrangements to the firing 
of the pistol, which they put into his hand for that pur¬ 
pose, and which, when it exploded, waked him. 

A cause of dreams, closely allied to the above, is the 
variety of sensations which we experience from the stom¬ 
ach, viscera, &c.—Persons, for instance, who have been 
for a long time deprived of food, or have received it only 
in small quantities, hardly enough to preserve life, will be 
likely to have dreams in some way or other directly re¬ 
lating to their condition. Baron Trenck relates, that, 
being almost dead with hunger when confined in his 
dungeon, his dreams every night presented to him the 
welhfilled and luxurious tables of Berlin, from which, as 
they were presented before him, he imagined he was 
about to relieve his hunger. “ The night had far advan¬ 
ced,” says Irving, speaking of the voyage of Mendez to 
Hispaniola, “ but those whose turn it was to take repose 
were unable to sleep, from the intensity of their thirst; 
or if they slept, it was to be tantalized with dreams of 
cool fountains and running brooks.” 

The state of health also has considerable influence, not 
only in producing dreams, but in giving them a particular 
character. The remark has been made by medical men, 
that acute diseases, particularly fevers, are often preceded 
and indicated by disagreeable and oppressive dreams. 



110 


DREAMING. 


$ 96. Explanation of the incoherency of dreams. (1st cause.) 

There is frequently much of wildness, inconsistency, 
and contradiction in our dreams. The mind passes very 
rapidly from one object to another; strange and singular 
incidents occur. If our dreams be truly the repetition of 
our waking thoughts, it may well be inquired, How this 
wildness and inconsistency happen ? 

The explanation of this peculiarity resolves itself into 
two parts.—The first ground or cause of it is, that our 
dreams are not subjected, like our waking thoughts, to 
the control and regulation of surrounding objects. While 
we are awake, our trains of thought are kept uniform and 
coherent by the influence of such objects, which continu¬ 
ally remind us of our situation, character, and duties; 
and which keep in check any tendency to revery. But 
in sleep the senses are closed; the soul is accordingly, in 
a great measure, excluded from the material world, and 
is thus deprived of the salutary regulating influence from 
that source. 

§ 97. Second cause of the incoherency of dreams. 

In the second place, when we are asleep, our associated 
trains of thought are no longer under the control of the 
will. We do not mean to say that the operations of the 
will are suspended at such times, and that volitions have 
no existence. On the contrary, there is sufficient evidence 
of the continuance of these mental acts, in some degree 
at least; since volitions must have made a part of the 
original trains of thought which are repeated in dream¬ 
ing ; and furthermore, we are often as conscious of exer¬ 
cising or putting forth volitions when dreaming as of any 
other mental acts; for instance, imagining, remembering, 
assenting, or reasoning. When we dream that we are 
attacked by an enemy sword in hand, but happen, as we 
suppose in our dreaming experiences, to be furnished in 
self-defence with an instrument of the same kind, we 
dream that we will to exert it for our own safety and 
against our antagonist; and we as truly in this case put 
forth the mental exercise which we term volition , as, in 
any other, we exercise remembrance, or imagine, or reason 
in our sleep. 


DREAMING. 


Ill 


Admitting, however, that the will continues to act in 
sleep, it is quite evident that the volitions which are put 
forth by it have ceased to exercise their customary influ¬ 
ence in respect to our mental operations. Ordinarily we 
are able, by means of an act of the will, to fix our atten¬ 
tion upon some particular part of any general subject 
which has been suggested, or to transfer it to some other 
part of such subject, and thus to direct and to regulate 
the whole train of mental action. But the moment we 
are soundly asleep, this influence ceases, and hence, in 
connexion with the other cause already mentioned, arise 
the wildness, incoherency, and contradictions which exist. 

A person, while he is awake, has his thoughts under 
such government, and is able, by the direct and indirect 
influence of volitions, so to regulate them as generally to 
bring them in the end to some conclusion, which he fore¬ 
sees and wishes to arrive at. But in dreaming, as all di¬ 
recting and governing influence, both internal and exter¬ 
nal, is at an end, our thoughts and feelings seem to be 
driven forward, much like a ship at sea without a rudder, 
wherever it may happen. 

§ 98. Apparent reality of dreams. (1st cause.) 

When objects are presented to us in dreams, we look 
upon them as real ; and events, and combinations and se¬ 
ries of events appear the same. We feel the same inter¬ 
est and resort to the same expedients as in the perplexi¬ 
ties and enjoyments of real life. When persons are intro¬ 
duced as forming a part in the transactions of our dreams, 
we see them clearly in their living attitudes and stature; 
we converse with them, and hear them speak, and be¬ 
hold them move, as if actually present. 

One reason of this greater vividness of our dreaming 
conceptions and of our firm belief in their reality seems to 
be this. The subjects upon which our thoughts are then 
employed, occupy the mind exclusively. We can form a 
clearer conception of an object with our eyes shut than we 
can with them open, as any one will be convinced on ma¬ 
king the experiment; and the liveliness of the conception 
will increase in proportion as we can suspend the exer¬ 
cise of the other senses. In sound sleep, not only the 


112 


DREAMING. 


sight, but the other senses also, may be said to be closed; 
and the attention is not continually diverted by the multi¬ 
tude of objects, which arrest the hearing and touch when 
we are awake.—It is, therefore, a most natural supposi¬ 
tion, that our conceptions must at such times be extreme¬ 
ly vivid and distinct At § 64 we particularly remarked 
upon conceptions, or those ideas which we have of absent 
objects of perception, which possess this vividness of char¬ 
acter. And it there appeared that they might be attend¬ 
ed with a momentary belief even when we are awake. 
But as conceptions exist in the mind when we are asleep 
in a much higher degree distinct and vivid, what was in 
the former case a momentary, becomes in the latter a per¬ 
manent belief. Hence everything has the appearance of 
reality; and the mere thoughts of the mind are virtual¬ 
ly transformed into persons, and varieties of situation, and 
events, which are regarded by us in precisely the same 
light as the persons, and situations, and events of our 
every day’s experience. 

§ 99. Apparent reality of dreams. (2d cause.) 

A second circumstance which goes to account for the 
fact that our dreaming conceptions have the appearance 
of reality is, that they are not susceptible of being con¬ 
trolled, either directly or indirectly, by mere volition.— 
We are so formed as almost invariably to associate reality 
with whatever objects of perception continue to produce 
in us the same effects. A hard or soft body, or any sub¬ 
stance of a particular colour, or taste, or smell, are always, 
when presented to our senses, followed by certain states 
of mind essentially the same; and we yield the most 
ready and firm belief in the existence of such objects. 
In a word, we are disposed, from our very constitution, to 
believe in the existence of objects of perception, the per¬ 
ceptions of which do not depend on the will, but which 
we find to be followed by certain states of the mind, 
whether we choose it or not.—But it is to be recollected 
that our dreaming thoughts are mere conceptions; our 
senses being closed and shut up, and external objects not 
being presented to them. This is true. But if we con¬ 
clude in favour of the real existence of objects of percep- 


DREAMING. 


113 


tion, "because they produce in us sensations independently 
of our volitions, it is but natural to suppose that we shall 
believe in the reality of our conceptions also whenever 
they are in like manner beyond our voluntary control. 
They are both merely states of the mind; and if belief 
always attends our perceptions, wherever we find them to 
be independent of our choice, there is no reason why 
conceptions, which are ideas of absent objects of percep¬ 
tion, should not be attended with a like belief under the 
same circumstances.—And essentially the same circum¬ 
stances exist in dreaming; that is, a train of conceptions 
arise in the mind, and we are not conscious at such times 
of being able to exercise any direction or control what¬ 
ever over them. They exist, whether we will or not; and 
we regard them as real. 

§ 100. Of our estimate of time in dreaming. 

Our estimate of time in dreaming differs from that when 
awake. Events which would take whole days or a lon¬ 
ger time in the performance, are dreamed in a few mo¬ 
ments. So wonderful is this compression of a multitude 
of transactions, into the very shortest period, that, when 
we are accidentally awakened by the jarring of a door 
which is opened into the room where we are sleeping, we 
sometimes dream of depredations by thieves or destruction 
by fire in the very instant of our awaking.—“ A friend of 
mine,” says Dr. Abercrombie, “ dreamed that he crossed 
the Atlantic, and spent a fortnight in America. In em¬ 
barking on his return, he fell into the sea; and, having 
awoke with the fright, discovered that he had not been 
asleep above ten minutes.” Count Lavallette, who some 
years since was condemned to death in France, relates a 
dream which occurred during his imprisonment as fol¬ 
lows. “ One night while I was asleep, the clock of the 
Palais de Justice struck twelve and awoke me. I heard the 
gate open to relieve the sentry; but I fell asleep again im¬ 
mediately. In this sleep I dreamed that I was standing in 
the Rue St. Honore, at the corner of the Rue de l’Echelle. 
A melancholy darkness spread around me; all was still; 
nevertheless, a low and uncertain sound soon arose. All 
of a sudden, I perceived at the bottom of the street, and 
K 2 


114 


DREAMING. 


advancing towards me, a troop of cavalry, the men and 
horses, however, all flayed. This horrible troop continu¬ 
ed passing in a rapid gallop, and casting frightful looks 
on me. Their march, I thought, continued for five hours ; 
and they were followed by an immense number of artille¬ 
ry-wagons full of bleeding corpses, whose limbs still quiver¬ 
ed \ a disgusting smell of blood and bitumen almost choked 
me. At length, the iron gate of the prison shutting with 
great force, awoke me again. I made my repeater strike; 
it was no more than midnight, so that the horrible phan¬ 
tasmagoria had lasted no more than two or three minutes ; 
that is to say, the time necessary for relieving the sentry 
and shutting the gate. The cold was severe and the 
watchword short. The next day the turnkey confirmed 
my calculations.” 

Our dreams will not unfrequently go through all the 
particulars of some long journey, or of some military ex¬ 
pedition, or of a circumnavigation of the globe, or of oth¬ 
er long and perilous undertakings, in a less number of 
hours than it took weeks, or months, or even years in the 
actual performance of them. We go from land to land, 
and from city to city, and into desert places; we experi¬ 
ence transitions from joy to sorrow and from poverty to 
wealth; we are occupied in the scenes and transactions 
of many long months; and then our slumbers are scatter¬ 
ed, and behold, they are the doings of a fleeting watch of 
the night! 

§ 101. Explanation of the preceding statements. 

This striking circumstance in the history of our dreams 
is generally explained by supposing that our thoughts, as 
they successively occupy the mind, are more rapid than 
while we are awake. But their rapidity is at all times 
very great; so much so, that, in a few moments, crowds 
of ideas pass through the mind which it would take a 
long time to utter, and a far longer time would it take to 
perform all the transactions which they concern. This 
explanation, therefore, is not satisfactory, for our thoughts 
are oftentimes equally rapid in our waking moments. 

The true reason, we apprehend, is to be found in those 
preceding sections which took under examination the ap- 


\ 

BREAMING. 115 

parent reality of dreams. Our conceptions in dreaming 
are considered by us real; every thought is an action ; 
every idea is an event; and successive states of mind are 
successive actions and successive events. He who in his 
sleep has the conception of all the particulars of a long 
military expedition or of a circumnavigation of the globe, 
seems to himself to have actually experienced all the 
various and multiplied fortunes of the one and the other. 
Hence what appears to be the real time in dreams, but is 
| only the apparent time, will not he that which is suffi¬ 
cient for the mere thought, but that which is necessary for 
the successive actions. 

“ Something perfectly analogous to this may be re¬ 
marked,” says Mr. Stewart, “ in the perceptions we ob¬ 
tain by the sense of sight.* When I look into a show- 
box where the deception is imperfect, I see only a set of 
paltry daubings of a few inches in diameter; but if the 
representation be executed with so much skill as to con¬ 
vey to me the idea of a distant prospect, every object 
before me swells in its dimensions in proportion to the 
extent of space which I conceive it to occupy; and what 
seemed before to be shut within the limits of a small 
wooden frame, is magnified in my apprehension to an 
immense landscape of woods, rivers, and mountains.” 

* Stewart’s Elements, chapter on Dreaming. 








•' ,-r* 











/ 


















































MENTAL PHILOSOPHY. 


DIVISION FIRST. 

THE INTELLECT OR UNDERSTANDING. 

INTELLECTIVE OR INTELLECTUAL STATES OF THE MIND. 


PART SECOND. 

INTELLECTUAL STATES OF INTERNAL ORIGIN. 













CHAPTER I. 


INTERNAL ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 

$ 102. The soul has fountains of knowledge within. 

We have traced the history of the mind thus far with 
continued and increased satisfaction, because we have 
been guided solely by well-known facts, without any de¬ 
sire of exciting w T onder by exaggeration, and with no 
other feeling than that of knowing the truth. With cau¬ 
tious endeavours not to trespass upon those limits which 
the Creator himself has set to our inquiries, we have seen 
the mind placed in the position of a necessary connexion 
with the material world through the medium of the 
senses, and in this way awakened into life, activity, and 
power. Inanimate matter seems to have been designed 
and appointed by Providence as the handmaid and nurse 
of the mind in the days of its infancy ; and for that pur¬ 
pose to have been endued with form, fragrance, and 
colour. Material eyes were given to the soul, (not made 
a part of its nature, but assigned to it as an instrumental 
and auxiliary agent,) that it might see; and material 
hands, that it might handle; and hearing, that it might 
hear. By means of these and other senses we become 
acquainted with whatever is visible and tangible, and has 
outline and form; but there are also inward powers of 
perception, hidden fountains of knowledge, which open 
themselves and flow up in the remote and secret places 
of the soul. In other words, the soul finds knowledge in 
itself which neither sight, nor touch, nor hearing, nor any 
other sense, nor any outward forms of matter, could give. 

“ The natural progress of all true learning,” says the 
author of Hermes, “ is from sense to intellect.” Haying 
begun with the senses, and first considered the sensations 
and ideas which we there receive, we are next to enter 
more exclusively into the mind itself, and to explore the 
fruitful sources of knowledge which are internal. And 
in thus doing, it is a satisfaction to know that we are 


120 INTERNAL ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 

treading essentially in the steps of Mr. Locke, whoso 
general doctrine undoubtedly is, that a part of our ideas 
only may be traced to the senses, and that the origin of 
others is to be sought wholly in the intellect itself. 

§ 103. Declaration of Locke, that the soul has knowledge in itself. 

After alluding to the senses as one great source of 
knowledge, “the other fountain,” says Locke, “from 
which experience furnisheth the understanding with ideas, 
is the perception of the operations of our own minds 
within us, as it is employed about the ideas it has got ; 
which operations, when the soul comes to reflect on and 
consider, do furnish the understanding with another set 
of ideas, which could not be had from things without, and 
such are perception, thinking, doubting, believing, reason¬ 
ing, knowing, willing, and all the different actings of our 
own minds, which, we being conscious of, and observing 
in ourselves, do from these receive into our understand¬ 
ings ideas as distinct as we do from bodies affecting our 
senses. This source of ideas every man has wholly with¬ 
in himself. And though it be not sense, ns having no¬ 
thing to do with external objects, yet it is very like it, 
and might properly enough be called internal sense. 
But as I call the other Sensation, so I call this Reflection; 
the ideas it affords being such only as the mind gets by 
reflecting on its own operations within itself.” 

§ 104. The beginning of knowledge is in the senses. 

In order to have a clear understanding of the particu¬ 
lar topic before us, let us briefly advert to certain general 
views, already more or less attended to, having a con¬ 
nexion with it. In making the human soul a subject of 
inquiry, it is an obvious consideration that a distinction 
may be drawn between the soul contemplated in itself, 
and its acts or states, or the knowledge which it possess¬ 
es. The inquiry, therefore, naturally arises, Under what 
circumstances the acquisition of knowledge begins ? 

Now this is the very question which has already been 
considered; nor can it be deemed necessary to repeat 
here the considerations which have been brought up in 
reference to it. It is enough to express our continued re- 



INTERNAL ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 


121 


liance on the general experience and testimony of man¬ 
kind, so far as it is possible to ascertain them on a subject 
of so much difficulty, that the beginnings of thought and 
knowledge are immediately subsequent to certain affec¬ 
tions of those bodily organs which we call the senses. In 
other words, were it not for impressions on the senses, 
which may be traced to objects external to them, our 
mental capabilities, whatever they may be, would in all 
probability have remained folded up, and have never 
been redeemed from a state of fruitless inaction.—Hence 
the process which is implied in the perception of external 
things, or what is commonly termed by Mr. Locke sensa¬ 
tion , may justly be considered the occasion or the intro¬ 
ductory step to all our knowledge. 

$ 105. There may also be internal accessions to knowledge. 

But it does not follow from this, nor is it by any means 
true, that the whole amount of knowledge in its ultimate 
progress is to be ascribed directly to an external source. 
All that can be said with truth is, that the mind receives 
the earliest part of its ideas by means of the senses, and 
that, in consequence of having received these elementary 
thoughts, all its powers become rapidly and fully opera¬ 
tive._And here we come to the second great source of 

knowledge. The powers of the mind being thus fairly 
brouo-ht into exercise, its various operations then furnish 
us with another set of notions, which, by way of distin¬ 
guishing them from those received through the direct 
mediation of the senses, may be called, in the language 
of Mr. Locke, ideas of reflection, or, to use a phraseology 
embracing all possible cases, ideas of internal origin. 

These two sources of human thought, the Internal and 
External, however they may have been confounded by 
some writers, are entirely distinct. The ideas which arise 
in the mind, solely from the fact of the previous existence 
of certain mental operations, could not have been sug¬ 
gested by anything which takes place in the external 
world independently of those operations. Of this last 
class, some instances, with illustrations of the same, may 
properly be mentioned here. 




122 


INTERNAL ORIGIN dF KNOWLEDGE. 


$ 106. Instances of notions which have an internal origin. 

Among other notions which are to be ascribed to the 
second great source, are those expressed by the terms 

THINKING, DOUBTING, BELIEVING, and CERTAINTY. -It is a 

matter of internal observation, (that is, of consciousness 
or of reflection, which are synonymous with internal ob¬ 
servation,) that the mind does not, and cannot, for any 
length of time, remain inactive. Hence there is occasion 
given for the origin of that idea w r hich we denominate 
thinking. The notion which we thus denominate is fra¬ 
med by the mind under these circumstances; the name is 
given, and nobody is ignorant as to w r hat is meant. But 
then it is to be remarked that its origin is wholly internal ; 
it is not an object of touch, or taste, or sight ; it is to be 
ascribed to the mind itself alone, and to its inherent ac¬ 
tivity, unaided by the senses, or by anything operating 
upon them. 

Again, in the examination of some topic which is pro¬ 
posed for discussion, a proposition is stated with little or 
no evidence attending it, and the mind, in reference to 
that proposition, is brought into a position to which we 
give the name of doubting. It is by no means easy, or 
rather it is impossible, to trace this idea directly to the 
senses. All we can say of it is, that it has its origin 
within, and necessarily exists immediately subsequent to 
certain other mental states of which we are conscious. 

But then, in this very instance, if the evidence be con¬ 
siderably increased, the mental estimation which we form 
is altered in regard to it, and to this new state of the mind 
we give the name of belief or believing. And in case the 
evidence of the proposition is of a higher and more deci¬ 
ded character, there then arises another state of the mind 
which we denominate certainty. 

$ 107. Other instances of ideas which have an internal origin. 

The ideas of right and wrong, of unity and number, of 
time and space, order, proportion, similitude, truth, wis¬ 
dom, power, obligation, succession, cause, effect, and 
many others, have a like origin; at least there are none 
of them to be ascribed directly and exclusively to the 
senses.—It is cheerfully granted, that, in determining this 


ORIGINAL SUGGESTION. 


123 


point, it is proper to refer to the common experience of 
mankind, and to rely upon it. But it is believed in all 
these instances, (certainly in the most of them,) such a 
reference will be amply decisive. 

Let it then be left to the candid internal examination 
of each individual to determine, Whether a distinction 
be not rightly drawn between the origin of these ideas 
and that of those which we attribute to the senses, such 
as red, blue, sweet, fragrant, bitter, hard, smooth, loud, 
soft, extended, &c. ? On this question it is thought that, 
in general, there can be but one answer, although some 
writers, through the love of excessive simplification, have 
been betrayed into error in regard to it. 

Hence it is distinctly to be kept in mind, that there are 
two sources of thought and knowledge. . An affection of 
the senses by means of external objects is the immediate 
occasion of one portion; the constitution of the mind and 
its operations are the occasions or source of the other. 
Those notions which can be ascribed directly to any one 
of the senses as their specific source, and not merely as 
an indirect and general occasion of their origin, are Ex¬ 
ternal, while all others seem to be entitled to be called 
Internal. 


CHAPTER H. 

ORIGINAL SUGGESTION. 

§ 108. Import of suggestion, and its application in Reid and Stewart. 

Some of the cases of thought and knowledge which the 
mind becomes possessed of in itself, without the direct 
aid of the senses, are to be ascribed to Suggestion. This 
word, in its application here, is used merely to express a 
simple but important fact, viz., that the mind, by its own 
activity and vigour, gives rise to certain thoughts. With¬ 
out any mixture of hypothesis, or any qualifying intima¬ 
tion whatever, it gives the fact, and that is all. The use 
of this word, as applicable to the origin of a portion of 
human knowledge, is distinctly proposed by Dr. Reid. 



124 


ORIGINAL SUGGESTION. 


In his Inquiry into the Human Mind, (ch. ii., § vii.,) he 
speaks of certain notions (for instance, those of existence, 
mind, person, &e.) as the “judgments of nature, judg¬ 
ments not got by comparing ideas, and perceiving agree¬ 
ments and disagreements, but immediately inspired by 
our constitution.” Pursuing this train of thought, he 
ascribes those notions which cannot be attributed directly 
to the senses on the one hand, nor to the reasoning power 
on the other, to an internal or mental Suggestion, as fol¬ 
lows.—“ I beg leave to make use of the word suggestion, 
because I know not one more proper, to express a power 
of the mind which seems entirely to have escaped the 
notice of philosophers, and to which we owe many of our 
simple notions.” 

Mr. Stewart also, in his Philosophical Essays, speaks 
of certain mental phenomena as attendant upon the ob¬ 
jects of our consciousness, and as suggested by them. 
The notions of time, number, motion, memory, sameness, 
personal identity, present existence, &c., he ascribes nei¬ 
ther to the external world on the one hand, nor the in¬ 
ternal mental operations, of which we are conscious, on 
the other; except so far as they are the occasions on 
which the mind brings them out, or suggests them from 
its own inherent energy. Of the notion of duration, for 
instance,, he would say, I do not see it, nor hear it, nor 
feel it, nor become acquainted with it by means of any 
other of the senses; nor am I conscious of it, as I am of 
believing, reasoning, imagining, &c., but it is suggested 
by the mind itself; it is an intimation absolutely essential 
to the mind’s nature and action. 

$ 109. Ideas of existence, mind, self-existence, and personal identity. 

We shall now mention a few ideas which have this ori¬ 
gin, without undertaking to give a complete enumeration 
of them. (I.) Existence. Among the various notions, 
the origin of which naturally requires to be considered 
under the head of Suggestion, is that of Existence. What 
existence is in itself, (that is to say, independently of 
any existent being,) it would be useless to inquire. Using 
the word as expressive of a mental state, it is the name 
of a purely simple idea, and cannot be defined. The 


ORIGINAL SUGGESTION. 


125 


history of its rise is briefly this. Such is our nature that 
we cannot exist, without having the notion of existence. 
So that the origin of the idea of existence is inseparable 
from the mere fact, that we have a percipient and sen¬ 
tient nature. An insentient being may exist without hav¬ 
ing any such idea. But man, being constituted with 
powers of perception, cannot help perceiving that he is 
what he is. If we think, then there is something which 
has this capability of thought; if we feel, then there is 
not only the mere act of feeling, but something also which 
puts forth the act. 

(II.) Mind. The origin of the notion of Mind is sim¬ 
ilar to that of existence. Neither of them can be strict¬ 
ly and properly referred to the senses. We do not see 
the mind, nor is it an object of touch, or of taste, or of 
any other sense. Nor, on the other hand, is the notion 
of mind a direct object of the memory, or of reasoning, 
or of imagination. The notion arises naturally, or is 
suggested from the mere fact that the mind actually ex¬ 
ists, and is susceptible of various feelings and operations. 
—The same may be said of all the distinct powers of the 
mind, such as the power of perception, of memory, of 
association, of imagination, of the will; not of the acts 
or exercises of these powers, it will be noticed, but of 
the powers themselves. That is to say, they are made 
known to us, considered abstractly and as distinct subjects 
of thought, not by direct perception, either inward or 
outward, but by spontaneity or suggestion. We say, not 
by direct perception, because there is something interme¬ 
diate between the power and the knowledge of it, viz., 
the act or exercise of the power, which is the occasion of 
the knowledge of the power itself. The principle of 
Original Suggestion, availing itself of this occasion, gives 
ns a knowledge of the distinct susceptibilities of the 
mind, just as it does of the mind as a whole. 

(III.) Similar remarks, as far as spontaneity is con¬ 
cerned, will apply to the notions (whether we consider 
them as simple or complex) of self-existence and per¬ 
sonal identity. At the very earliest period they flow 
out, as it were, from the mind itself; not resulting from 
any prolonged and laborious process, but freely and spon- 


126 


ORIGINAL SUGGESTION. 


taneously suggested by it. This is so true, that no one is 
able to designate either the precise time or the precise 
circumstances under which they originate; for they spring 
into being under all circumstances. We cannot look, or 
touch, or breathe, or move, or think without them. 
These are products of our mental nature too essential and 
important to be withheld, or to be given only on rare 
and doubtful occasions; but are brought into existence in 
all times and places, and under all the varieties of action 
and feeling. 

$ 110. Of the nature of unity, and the origin of that notion. 

Another important notion, properly entitled to a con¬ 
sideration here, is that of unity. We shall decline at¬ 
tempting to explain the nature of unity, for the simple 
reason that nothing is more easy to be understood; every 
child knows what is meant by One. And how can we 
explain it, if we would ? We can explain a hundred by 
resolving it into parts; we can explain fifty or a score 
by making a like separation of the whole number into 
the subordinate portions of which it is made up; but 
when we arrive at unity, we must stop, and can go no 
further. 

It is true, attempts have been made to define it; but, 
like many other such attempts, they have proved futile. 
Unity has been called a thing indivisible in itself \ and di¬ 
vided from everything else. But this makes us no wiser. 
Is it anything more than to say that the unity of an ob¬ 
ject is its indivisibility 1 Or, in other words, that its unity 
is its unity 1 

As the idea of unity is one of the simplest, so it is one 
of the earliest notions which men have. It originates in 
the same way, and very nearly at the same time, with the 
notions of existence, self-existence, personal identity, and 
the like. When a man has a notion of himself, he evi¬ 
dently does not think of himself as two, three, or a dozen 
men, but as one. As soon as he is able to think of him¬ 
self as distinct from his neighbour, as soon as he is in 
no danger of mingling and confounding his own identity 
with that of the multitude around him, so soon does he 
form the notion of unity. It exists as distinct in his 


ORIGINAL SUGGESTION. 


127 


mind a § the idea of his own existence does; and arises 
there immediately successive to that idea, because it is 
impossible, in the nature of things, that he should have a 
notion of himself as a twofold or divided person. 

Unity is the fundamental element of all enumeration. 
By the repetition or adding of this element, we are able 
to form numbers to any extent. These numbers may be 
combined among themselves, and employed merely as 
expressive of mutual relations, or we may apply them, if 
we choose, to all external objects whatever, to which we 
are able to give a common name. 

$111. Nature of succession, and origin of the idea of succession. 

Another of those conceptions which naturally offer 
themselves to our notice here, is that of succession. This 
term (when we inquire what succession is in itself) is one 
of general application, expressive of a mode of exist¬ 
ence rather than of existence itself; and in its appli¬ 
cation to mind in particular, expressive of a condition 
of the mind’s action, but not of the action itself, which 
that condition regulates. It is certainly a fact too well 
known to require comment, that our minds exist at differ¬ 
ent periods in successive states; that our thoughts and 
feelings, in obedience to a permanent law, follow each 
other in a train. This is the simple fact. And the fact 
of such succession, whenever it takes place, forms the oc¬ 
casion on which the notion or idea of succession is sug¬ 
gested to the mind. Being a simple mental state, it is 
not susceptible of definition; yet every man possesses it, 
and every one is rightly supposed to understand its na¬ 
ture. . . 

Accordingly, it is not necessary to refer the origin of 
this idea to anything external. It is certain, that the 
sense of smell cannot directly give us the idea of succes¬ 
sion, nor the sense of taste, nor of touch. And we well 
know that the deaf and dumb possess it not less than 
others. The blind also, who have never seen the face of 
heaven, nor beheld that sun and moon which measure 
out for us days, and months, and years, have the notion 
of succession. They feel, they think, they reason, at 
least in some small degree, like other men; and it is im- 


128 


ORIGINAL SUGGESTION. 


possible that they should be without it. The origin, 
therefore, of this notion is within; it is the unfailing re¬ 
sult of the inward operation to call it forth, however true 
it may be, that it is subsequently applied to outward ob¬ 
jects and events. 

§ 112. Origin of the notion of duration. 

There is usually understood to be a distinction between 
the idea of succession and that of duration, though nei¬ 
ther can be defined. The idea of succession is suppo¬ 
sed to be antecedent in point of time to that of duration; 
(we speak now of succession and duration relatively to 
our conception of them, and not in themselves consider¬ 
ed.) Duration must be supposed to exist antecedently to 
succession in the order of nature; but succession is the 
form in which it is made to apply to men; and is, there¬ 
fore, naturally the occasion on which the idea of it arises 
in men’s minds. Having the notion of succession, and 
that of personal or self-existence, a foundation is laid for 
the additional conception of permanency or duration; in 
other words, it naturally arises in the mind, or is suggest¬ 
ed under these circumstances. 

As we cannot, according to this view of its origin, 
have the notion of duration without succession, hence it 
happens that we know nothing of duration when we are 
perfectly asleep, because we are not then conscious 
of those intellectual changes which are involved in 
succession. If a person could sleep with a perfect sus¬ 
pension of all his mental operations from this time until 
the resurrection, the whole of that period would appear 
to him as nothing. Ten thousand years passed under 
such circumstances would be less than a few days or 
even hours. J 3 


$ 113. Illustrations of the nature of duration. 

That the notion of succession (we do not say succes¬ 
sion itself, but only our notion or idea of it) is antecedent 
to, and is essential to that of duration, is in some measure 
proved by various facts. There are on record a number 
of cases of remarkable somnolency, in which persons 
have slept for weeks and even months. One of the most 


ORIGINAL SUGGESTION. 129 

striking is that of Samuel Chilton, a labourer of Tins- 
bury, near Bath in England. On one occasion, in the 
year 1696, he slept from the ninth of April to the seventh 
of August, about seventeen weeks, being kept alive by 
small quantities of wine poured down his throat. He 
then awoke, dressed himself, and walked about the room, 
“ being perfectly unconscious that he had slept more than 
one night. Nothing, indeed, could make him believe 
that he had slept so long, till, upon going to the fields, he 
saw crops of barley and oats ready for the sickle, which 
he remembered were only sown when he last visited 
them.”—In the proceedings of the French Royal Acade¬ 
my of Sciences in 1719, there is also a statement, illustra¬ 
tive of the subject under consideration, to the following 
effect. There was in Lausanne a nobleman, who, as he 
was giving orders to a servant, suddenly lost his speech 
and all his senses.—Different remedies were tried, but, for 
a very considerable time, without effect. For six months 
he appeared to be in a deep sleep, unconscious of every¬ 
thing. At the end of that period, however, resort having 
been had to certain surgical operations, he was suddenly 
restored to his speech and the exercise of his understand¬ 
ing. When he recovered, the servant to whom he had 
been giving orders happening to be in the room, he ask¬ 
ed him if he had done what he had ordered him to do, 
not being sensible that any interval, except perhaps a 
very short one, had elapsed during his illness. 

$ 114. Of time and its measurements, and of eternity. 

When duration is estimated or measured, then we call 
it Time. Such measurements, as every one is aware, are 
made by means of certain natural or artificial motions. 
The annual revolution of the sun (using language in ac¬ 
cordance with the common apprehensions on the subject) 
marks off the portion of duration which we call a year ; 
the revolution of the moon marks off another portion, 
which we call a month ; the diurnal revolution of the sun 
gives us the period of a day; the movements of the 
hands over the face of a clock or watch give the dimin¬ 
ished durations of hours and minutes. This is time, which 
differs from duration only in the circumstance of its being 
measured. 


130 


ORIGINAL SUGGESTION. 


What we call Eternity is only a modified or imperfect 
time, or, rather, time not completed. We look back over 
the months, and days, and years of our former existence ; 
we look forward and onward, and behold ages crowding 
on ages, and time springing from time. And in this way 
we are forcibly led to think of time unfinished, of time 
progressive but never completed; and to this complex 
notion we give the name of Eternity. 

§ 115. The idea of space not of external origin. 

Another of those notions, the origin of which we pro¬ 
pose to consider under the head of Suggestion, is the idea 
of space. —If this idea were of external origin, if it could 
properly be said to come into the mind by the way of sen¬ 
sation, we should be able to make such a reference of it. 
But let us inquire. It will evidently not be pretended 
that the notion of space is to be ascribed to the senses of 
taste, of smell, or of hearing. And can it be ascribed to 
the sense of touch ? Is it a matter of feeling ? A sin¬ 
gle consideration will suggest a satisfactory answer. It 
will certainly be acknowledged, that we can have (no 
knowledge, by the sense of touch, (with the single excep¬ 
tion, perhaps, of the sensations of heat and cold which 
are commonly ascribed to it,) of anything which does 
not present some resistance. The degree of resistance 
may greatly vary, but there will always be some. But 
no one will undertake to say that resistance is a quality 
of space, or enters in any way into his notion of it. 

Nor are there less obvious objections to regarding it as 
a direct object of sight. The sense of sight gives us no 
direct knowledge of anything but colours; all other vis¬ 
ual perceptions are original in the sense of touch, and are 
made the property of the sight by transference. No one 
certainly ever speaks of space as red or white, or of any 
other colour, or conceives of it as such. 

There is another consideration, adverse to ascribing the 
idea of space to the senses, applicable equally to the sight 
and the touch. Everything coming within the cogni¬ 
zance of those two senses, (with the exception already 
alluded to,) has form, limits, bounds, place, &c. But the 
idea to which we are now attending is utterly exclusive 


ORIGINAL SUGGESTION* 


m 


of everything of this nature; it is not susceptible of cir¬ 
cumscription and figure. So far from it, when we escape 
beyond the succession of circumscribed and insulated ob¬ 
jects, we have but just entered within its empire. If we 
let the mind range forth beyond the forms immediately 
surrounding us, beyond the world itself, beyond all the 
systems of worlds in the universe; if we stand in our con¬ 
ception on the verge of the remotest star, and look down¬ 
ward and upward, it is then the idea of space rushes 
upon the mind with a power before unknown.—These 
considerations clearly lead to the conclusion, that the no¬ 
tion of space is not susceptible of being ascribed directly 
to sensation in anyof its forms, and is not, in the proper 
sense of the terms, of external origin. 

§ 116. The idea of space has its origin in suggestion. 

What, then, shall we say of the origin of the notion of 
space I When pressed on this point we have but one 
answer to give; it is the natural offspring of the mind ; 
it is a creation of the soul, wholly inseparable from its el¬ 
ementary constitution and action; an intimation coming 
from an interior and original impulse.—It remains to be 
added, that, while we cannot directly refer the notion in 
question to the senses, but must ascribe its origin to the 
suggestive principle, we cannot even state with certainty 
any particular occasion on which it arises, for we have the 
notion at a period further back than we can remember. 
On this point, however, it is undoubtedly true, that we 
may advance opinions more or less probable. It is, for 
instance, a supposition not altogether worthless, that mo¬ 
tion may have been the original occasion of the rise of 
this idea. At an early period we moved the hand, either 
to grasp something removed at a little distance, or in the 
mere playful exercise of the muscles, or perhaps we trans¬ 
ferred the whole body $>om one position to another; and 
it is at least no impossibility, that on such an occasion the 
idea of space may have been called forth in the soul. 

But there is another supposition still more entitled to 
notice. Our acquaintance with external bodies, by means 
of the senses, may have been the occasion of its rise, al¬ 
though the senses themselves are not its direct source. It 


132 


ORIGINAL SUGGESTION* 


is certain that we cannot contemplate any body whatever, 
an apple, a rose, a tree, a house, without always finding 
the idea of space a ready and necessary concomitant. 
We cannot conceive of a body which is nowhere. So 
that we may at least date the origin of the idea of 
space as early as our acquaintance with any external body 
whatever. In other words, it is a gift of the mind, made 
simultaneously with its earliest external perceptions. 

$ 117. Of the origin of the idea of power. 

Under the head of Suggestion the idea of power prop¬ 
erly belongs. Every man has this notion; every one 
feels, too, that there is a corresponding reality; in other 
words, power is not only a mere subject of thought, but 
has, in some important sense, a real existence. And we 
may add, that every one knows, although there is some¬ 
where a great original fountain of power, independent of 
all created beings, that he has a portion (small indeed it 
may be, but yet a portion) of the element of power in 
his own mind and in his own person. There is indeed a 
Power, unexplored and invisible, which has reared the 
mountains, which rolls the ocean, and which propels the 
sun in his course; but it is nevertheless true, that man, 
humble as he is in the scale of rational and accountable 
beings, possesses, as an attribute of his own nature, an 
amount of real efficiency, suited to the limited sphere 
which Providence has allotted him. This is a simple 
statement of the fact. Power goes hand in hand with 
existence, intelligence, and accountability. There is no 
existence, either intelligent or unintelligent, without pow¬ 
er, either in the thing itself, or in something else which 
sustains it. There is no accountable existence without 
power, existing in and participating in such existence, 
and constituting the basis of its accountability. 

§ 118. Occasions of the origin of the idea of power. 

But the principal question here is, not what power is 
in itself, nor whether man possesses power in fact, but 
under what circumstances the notion or idea of power 
arises in the human mind. The occasions of the origin 
of this idea, so far as we are able to judge, appear to be 


ORIGINAL SUGGESTION. 


133 


threefold.—(1.) All cases of antecedence and sequence 
in the natural world. We are so constituted, that, in 
connexion with such cases of antecedence and sequence, 
we are led at a very early period of life to frame the 
proposition and to receive it as an undeniable truth, that 
there can be no beginning or change of existence without 
a cause. This proposition involves the idea of efficiency 
or power.—(2.) The control of the will over the muscu¬ 
lar action. We are so constituted, that, whenever we will 
to put a part of the body in motion, and the motion fol¬ 
lows the volition, we have the idea of power.—(3.) The 
control of the will over the other mental powers. Within 
certain limits and to a certain extent, there seems to be 
ground for supposing that the will is capable of exercising 
a directing control over the mental as well as over the 
bodily powers. And whenever we are conscious of such 
control being exercised, whether it be greater or less, oc¬ 
casion is furnished for the origin of this idea. It is then 
called forth or suggested. It is not seen by the material 
eye, nor reached by the sense of touch; but, emerging of 
itself from the mind, like a star from the depths of the 
firmament, it reveals itself distinctly and brightly to the 
intellectual vision. 

$ 119. Of the ideas of right and wrong. 

Right and Wrong also are conceptions of the pure Un¬ 
derstanding ; that is, of the Understanding operating in 
virtue of its own interior nature, and not as dependent on 
the senses. We are constituted intellectually in such a 
manner, that, whenever occasions of actual right or wrong 
occur, whenever objects fitted to excite a moral approval 
or disapproval are presented to our notice, the ideas of 
right and wrong naturally and necessarily arise within 
us. In respect to these ideas or intellections , (if we 
choose to employ an expressive term partially fallen into 
disuse,) Cudworth, Stewart, Cousin, and other writers of 
acknowledged discernment and weight, appear to agree 
in placing the origin of them here. And this arrange¬ 
ment of them is understood to be important in connexion 
with the theory of Morals. If these ideas originate in the 
pure intellect, and are simple, as they obviously are, then 


134 


ORIGINAL SUGGESTION. 


each of them necessarily has its distinctive nature; each 
of them is an entity by itself ; and it is impossible to con¬ 
ceive of them as identical or interchangeable with each 
other. They are as truly unlike as our conceptions of 
unity and time , or of space and power. And if this is 
true of our ideas of right and wrong, it is not less so of 
right and wrong themselves. In other words, right can 
never become wrong, nor wrong right; they are placed 
for ever apart, each occupying its own sphere; and thus 
we have a foundation laid for the important doctrine of 
the immutability of moral distinctions.—“ The distinction 
between right and wrong,” says Cousin, (Psychology, 
ch. v.,) “ may be incorrectly applied, may vary in regard 
to particular objects, and may become clearer and more 
correct in time, without ceasing to be with all men the 
same thing at the bottom. It is a universal conception 
of Reason, and hence it is found in all languages, those 
products and faithful images of the mind.—Not only is 
this distinction universal, but it is a necessary conception. 
In vain does the reason, after having once received, at¬ 
tempt to deny it, or call in question its truth. It cannot. 
One cannot at will regard the same action as just and 
unjust. These two ideas baffle every attempt to commute 
them, the one for the other. Their objects may change, 
but never their nature.” 

§ 120. Origin of the ideas of moral merit and demerit. 

Closely connected with the ideas- of right and wrong 
are the ideas of moral merit and demerit. In the order 
of nature, (what is sometimes called the logical order,) 
the ideas of right and wrong come first. Without pos¬ 
sessing the antecedent notions of right and wrong, it 
would be impossible for us to frame the ideas of moral 
merit and demerit. For what merit can we possibly at¬ 
tach to him in whom we discover no rectitude ? or what 
demerit in him in whom we discover no want of it'? 
Merit always implies virtue as its antecedent and neces¬ 
sary condition, while demerit as certainly implies the 
want of it, or vice. Although the ideas of merit and de¬ 
merit, in consequence of being simple, are undefinable, 
there can be no doubt of their existence, and of their 


ORIGINAL SUGGESTION. 


135 


being entirely clear to our mental perception; and that 
they furnish a well-founded and satisfactory basis for 
many of our judgments in respect to the moral character 
and conduct of mankind. 

$ 121. Of other elements of knowledge developed in suggestion. 

In giving an account of the ideas from this source, we 
have preferred as designative of their origin the term 
suggestion, proposed and employed by Reid and Stew¬ 
art, to the word reason, proposed by Kant, and adopted 
by Cousin and some other writers, as, on the whole, more 
conformable to the prevalent usage of the English lan¬ 
guage. In common parlance, and by the established 
usage of the language, the word reason is expressive of 
the deductive rather than of the suggestive faculty; and 
if we annul or perplex the present use of that word by a 
novel application of it, we must introduce a new word to 
express the process of deduction. Whether we are cor¬ 
rect in this or not, we shall probably find no disagree¬ 
ment or opposition in asserting, not only the existence, 
but the great importance of the intellectual capability 
which we have been considering. The thing, and the 
nature of the thing, is undoubtedly of more consequence 
than the mere name. 

In leaving this interesting topic, we would not be un¬ 
derstood to intimate that the notions of existence, mind, 
personal identity, unity, succession, duration, power, and 
the others which have been mentioned, are all which 
Suggestion furnishes. It might not be easy to make a 
complete enumeration; but, in giving an account of the 
genesis of human knowledge, we may probably ascribe 
the ideas of truth, freedom, design or intelligence, neces¬ 
sity, fitness or congruity, reality, order, plurality, totality, 
immensity, possibility, infinity, happiness, reward, punish¬ 
ment, and perhaps many others, to this source. 

§ 122. Suggestion a source of principles as well as of ideas. 

One more remark remains to be made. Original Sug¬ 
gestion is not only the source of ideas, (and particularly 
of ideas fundamental and unalterable,) but also of 'princi¬ 
ples. The reasoning faculty, which in its nature is essen- 


136 


CONSCIOUSNESS. 


tially comparative and deductive, must have something to 
rest upon back of itself, and of still higher authority than 
itself, with which, as a first link in the chain, the process 
of deduction begins. It is the suggestive intellect which 
is the basis of the action of the comparative and deduc¬ 
tive intellect. Of those elementary or transcendental 
propositions which are generally acknowledged to be 
prerequisites and conditions of the exercise of the deduc¬ 
tive faculty, there are some particularly worthy of notice, 
such as the following.—There is no beginning or change 
of existence without a cause.—Matter and mind have 
uniform and permanent laws.—Every quality supposes a 
subject, a real existence, of which it is a quality.—Means, 
conspiring together to produce a certain end, imply intel¬ 
ligence. 


CHAPTER III. 

CONSCIOUSNESS. 

§ 123. Consciousness the 2d source of internal knowledge ; its nature. 

The second source of that knowledge which, in dis¬ 
tinction from sensations and external perceptions, is de¬ 
nominated Internal, is consciousness. By the common 
usage of the language, the term Consciousness is appro¬ 
priated to express the way or method in which we obtain 
the knowledge of those objects which belong to the 
mind itself, and which do not, and cannot exist inde¬ 
pendently of some mind. Imagining and reasoning are 
terms expressive of real objects of thought; but evident¬ 
ly they cannot be supposed to exist, independently of 
some mind which imagines and reasons. Hence every 
instance of consciousness may be regarded as embracing- 
in itself the three following distinct notions at least; viz., 
(1.) The idea of self or of personal existence, which we 
possess, not by direct consciousness, but by suggestion, 
expressed in English by the words self, myself, and the 
personal pronoun I; (2.) Some quality, state, or opera¬ 
tion of the mind, whatever it may be \ and (3.) A relative 



CONSCIOUSNESS. 


137 


perception of possession, appropriation, or belonging to. 
For instance, a person says, I am conscious of love, or 
of anger, or of penitence. Here the idea of self, or of 
personal existence, is expressed by the pronoun I; there 
is a different mental state, and expressed by its appropri¬ 
ate term, that of the affection of anger, &c. ; the phrase, 
conscious of, expresses the feeling of relation, which in¬ 
stantaneously and necessarily recognises the passion of 
anger as the attribute or property of the subject of the 
proposition. And in this case, as in all others where we 
apply the term under consideration, consciousness does 
not properly extend to anything which has an existence 
extraneous to the conscious object or soul itself. 

$ 124. Further remarks on the proper objects of consciousness. 

As there are some things to which Consciousness, as 
the term is usually employed, relates, and others to which 
it does not, it is proper to consider it in this respect more 
fully.—(1.) As to those thoughts which may have arisen, 
or those emotions which may have agitated us in times 
past, we cannot with propriety be said to be conscious of 
them at the present moment, although we may be con¬ 
scious of that present state of mind which we term the 
recollection of them.—(2.) Again, Consciousness has no 
direct connexion with such objects, whether material or 
immaterial, as exist at the present time, but are external 
to the mind, or, in other words, have an existence inde¬ 
pendent of it. 

For instance, we are not, strictly speaking, conscious 
of any material existence whatever; of the earth which 
we tread, of the food which nourishes us, of the clothes 
that protect, or of anything else of the like nature with 
which we are conversant; but are conscious merely of 
the effects they produce within us, of the sensations of 
taste, of heat and cold, of resistance and extension, of 
hardness and softness, and the like. 

(3.) This view holds also in respect to immaterial 
things, even the mind itself. We are not directly con¬ 
scious, using the term in the manner which has been ex¬ 
plained, of the existence even of our own mind, but 
merely of its qualities and operations, and of that firm 


138 


CONSCIOUSNESS. 


belief or knowledge of its existence, necessarily attend¬ 
ant on those operations. 

$ 125. Consciousness a ground or law of belief. 

Consciousness, it may be remarked here, is to be re¬ 
garded as a ground or law of belief; and the belief at¬ 
tendant on the exercise of it, like that which accompa¬ 
nies the exercise of Original Suggestion, is of the highest 
kind. It appears to be utterly out of our power to avoid 
believing, beyond a doubt, that the mind experiences cer¬ 
tain sensations, or has certain thoughts, or puts forth par¬ 
ticular intellectual operations, whenever, in point of fact, 
that is the case. We may be asked for the reason of this 
belief, but we have none to give, except that it is the re¬ 
sult of an ultimate and controlling principle of our na¬ 
ture ; and hence that nothing can ever prevent the convic¬ 
tions resulting from this source, and nothing can divest 
us of them. 

Nor has the history of the hmnan mind made known 
any instances that have even the appearance of being at 
variance with this view, except a few cases of undoubted 
insanity. A man may reason against Consciousness as a 
ground and law of belief, either for the sake of amusing 
himself or perplexing others; but when he not only rea¬ 
sons against it as such, but seriously and sincerely rejects 
it, it becomes quite another concern; and such a one has, 
by common consent, broken loose from the authority of 
his nature, and is truly and emphatically beside himself. 
It will be impossible to v find a resting-place where such 
a mind can fix itself and repose; the best established 
truths, and the wildest and most extravagant notions, will 
stand nearly an equal chance of being either rejected or 
received; fancy and fact will be confounded and mingled 
together, and the whole mind will exhibit a scene of 
chaotic and irretrievable confusion. 

§ 126. Instances of knowledge developed in consciousness. 

It would be no easy task to point out the numerous 
states of mind, the ideas, and emotions, and desires, and 
volitions, which come within the range and cognizance 
of Consciousness; nor is there any special reason, connect- 


CONSCIOUSNESS. 


139 


ed with any object we have in view at present, why such 
a full enumeration should be attempted. A few instances 
will suffice to show how fruitful a source of experience 
and of knowledge this is. 

(I.) All the various degrees of belief are matters of 
Consciousness. We are so constituted that the mind ne¬ 
cessarily yields its assent in a greater or less degree when 
evidence is presented. These degrees of assent are ex¬ 
ceedingly various and multiplied, although only a few of 
them are expressed by select and appropriate names; nor 
does it appear to be necessary for the ends of society, or 
for any other purpose, that it should be otherwise. Some 
of them are as follows : doubting, assenting, presumption, 
believing, disbelieving, probability, certainty, &c. 

(II.) The names of all other intellectual acts and oper¬ 
ations (not the names of the intellectual Powers, which, 
like the mind itself, are made known to us by Suggestion, 
and are expressed by a different class of terms, but sim¬ 
ply of acts and operations') are expressive of the subjects 
of our Consciousness. Among others, the terms perceiv¬ 
ing, thinking, attending, conceiving, remembering, com¬ 
paring, judging, abstracting, reasoning, imagining. 

(in.) Consciousness, considered as a source of knowl¬ 
edge, includes likewise all our emotions and desires, 
(everything, in fact, which really and directly comes with¬ 
in the range of the sensitive or sentient part of our na¬ 
ture,) as the emotions of the beautiful, the grand, the sub¬ 
lime, the ludicrous; the feelings of pleasure, and pain, 
and aversion, of hope and joy, of despondency and sad¬ 
ness, and a multitude of others. 

(IV.) Here also originates our acquaintance with the 
complex emotions or passions. A man bestows a benefit 
upon us, and we are conscious of a new complex feeling 
which we call gratitude. Another person does us an in¬ 
jury ; and we are conscious of another and distinct feeling, 
which we call anger. In other words, we feel, we know 
that the passion exists, and that it belongs to ourselves; 
and it is the same of jealousy, hatred, revenge, friendship, 
sympathy, the filial and parental affections, love, &c. 

(V.) All the moral and religious emotions and affec¬ 
tions, regarded as subjects of internal knowledge, belong 


140 RELATIVE SUGGESTION OR JUDGMENT. 

here; such as approval, disapproval, remorse, humility, 
repentance, religious faith, forgiveness, benevolence, the 
sense of dependence, adoration.—When we consider that 
the mind is constantly in action; that, in all our intercourse 
with our fellow-beings, friends, family, countrymen, and 
enemies, new and exceedingly diversified feelings are 
called forth; that every new scene in nature, and every 
new combination of events, have their appropriate results 
in the mind, it will be readily conjectured that this enu¬ 
meration might be carried to a much greater extent. 
What has been said will serve to indicate some of the 
prominent sources for self-inquiry on this subject. 


i CHAPTER IV. 

RELATIVE SUGGESTION OR JUDGMENT. 

$ 127. Of the susceptibility of perceiving or feeling relations. 

It is not inconsistent with the usage of our language 
to say, that the mind brings its thoughts together, and 
places them side by side, and compares them. Such are 
nearly the expressions of Mr. Locke, who speaks of the 
mind’s bringing one thing to and setting it by another, 
and carrying its view from one to the other. And such 
is the imperfect nature of all arbitrary signs, that this 
phraseology will probably continue to be employed, al¬ 
though without some attention it will be likely to lead 
into error. Such expressions are evidently of material 
origin, and cannot be rightly interpreted in their applica¬ 
tion to the mind, without taking that circumstance into 
consideration. When it is said that our thoughts are 
brought together; that they are placed side by side, and 
the like, probably nothing more can be meant than this, 
that they are immediately successive to each other. And 
when it is further said that we compare them, the mean¬ 
ing is, that we perceive or feel their relation to each other 
in certain respects. 

The mind, therefore, has an original susceptibility or 
power corresponding to this result; in other words, by 



RELATIVE SUGGESTION OR JUDGMENT. 141 

which this result is brought about; which is sometimes 
known as its power of relative suggestion, and at other 
times the same thing is expressed by the term judgment, 
although the latter term is sometimes employed with other 
shades of meaning.—“ With the susceptibility of Relative 
Suggestion,” says Dr. Brown, Lect. 51, “ the faculty of 
judgment , as that term is commonly employed, may be 
considered as nearly synonymous; and I have accord¬ 
ingly used it as synonymous in treating of the different 
relations that have come under our review.” 

We arrive here, therefore, at an ultimate fact in our 
mental nature; in other words, we reach a principle so 
thoroughly elementary, that it cannot be resolved into any 
other. The human intellect is so made, so constituted, 
that, when it perceives different objects together, or has 
immediately successive conceptions of any absent objects 
of perception, their mutual relations are immediately felt 
by it. It considers them as equal or unequal, like or un¬ 
like, as being the same or different in respect to place and 
time, as having the same or different causes and ends, 
and in various other respects. 

§ 128 . Occasions on which feelings of relation may arise. 

The occasions on which feelings of relation may arise 
are almost innumerable. It would certainly be no easy 
task to specify them all. Any of the ideas which the 
mind is able to frame, may, either directly or indirectly, 
lay the foundation of other ideas of relation, since they 
may, in general, be compared together; or if they cannot 
themselves be readily placed .side by side, may be made 
the means of bringing others into comparison. But those 
ideas which are of an external origin are representative 
of objects and their qualities; and hence we may speak 
of the relations of things no less than of the relations of 
thought. And such relations are everywhere discover¬ 
able. 

We behold the flowers of the field, and one is fairer 
than another; we hear many voices, and one is louder 
or softer than another; we taste the fruits of the earth, 
and one flavour is more pleasant than another. But these 
differences of sound, and brightness, and taste, could never 





142 RELATIVE SUGGESTION OR JUDGMENT. 

be known to us without the power of perceiving relations. 
—Again, we see a fellow-being ; and as we make him j 
the subject of our thoughts, we at first think of him only | 
as a man. But then he may, at the same time, be a fa¬ 
ther, a brother, a son, a citizen, a legislator ; these terms 
express ideas of relation. 

§ 129. Of the use of correlative terms. 

Correlative terms are such terms as are used to express 
corresponding ideas of relation. They suggest the rela¬ 
tions with great readiness, and, by means of them, the 
mind can be more steadily, and longer, and with less 
pain, fixed upon the ideas of which they are expressive. 
The words father and son, legislator and constituent, 
brother and sister, husband and wife, and others of this 
class, as soon as they are named, at once carry our 
thoughts beyond the persons who are the subjects of 
these relations to the relations themselves. Wherever, 
therefore, there are correlative terms, the relations may 
be expected to be clear to the mind. 

§ 130. Of relations of identity and diversity. 

The number of relations is very great; so much so, that 
it is found difficult to reduce them to classes; and proha- t 
bly no classification of them which has been hitherto pro- i 
posed, exhausts them in their full extent. The most of s 
those which it will be necessary to notice may be brought I 
into the seven classes of relations of identity and diver- 
SITY, Of DEGREE, of PROPORTION, of PLACE, of TIME, of POS- j 

session, and of cause and effect. 

The first class of ideas of relation which we shall pro- 

ceed to consider, are those of identity and diversity._ 

Such is the nature of our minds, that no two objects can j 
be placed before us essentially unlike, without our having 1 
a perception of this difference. When, on the other hand, 
there is an actual sameness in the objects contemplated 
by us, the mind perceives or is sensible of their identity. 

It is not meant by this that we are never liable to mis¬ 
take ; that the mind never confounds what is different, 
nor separates what is the same; our object here is merely 
to state the general fact. 








RELATIVE SUGGESTION OR JUDGMENT. 143 

Two pieces of paper, for instance, are placed before 
us, the one white and the other red; and we at once 
perceive, without the delay of resorting to other objects 
and bringing them into comparison, that the colours are 
not the same. We immediately and necessarily perceive 
a difference between a square and a circle, between a 
triangle and a parallelogram, between the river and the 
rude cliff that overhangs it, the flower and the turf from 
which it springs, the house and the neighbouring hill, the 
horse and his rider. 

Whatever may be the appearance of this elementary 
perception at first sight, it is undoubtedly one of great 
practical importance. It has its place in all forms of rea¬ 
soning, as the train of argument proceeds from step to 
step; and in Demonstrative reasoning in particular, it is 
evident, that without it we should be unable to combine 
together the plainest propositions. 

$ 131. (II.) Relations of degree, and names expressive of them. 

Another class of those intellectual perceptions which 
are to be ascribed to the Judgment, or what we term more 
explicitly the power of relative suggestion, may proper¬ 
ly enough be named perceptions of relations of Degree. 
Such perceptions of relation are found to exist in respect 
to all such objects as are capable of being considered as 
composed of parts, and as susceptible, in some respects, of 
different degrees.—We look, for instance, at two men; 
they are both tall; but we at once perceive and assert 
that one is taller than the other. We taste two apples; 
they are both sweet; but we say that one is sweeter than 
another. That is to say, we discover, in addition to the 
mere perception of the man and the apple, a relation, a 
difference in the objects in certain respects. 

There are terms in all languages employed in the ex¬ 
pression of such relations. In English a reference to the 
particular relation is often combined in the same term 
which expresses the quality. All the words of the com¬ 
parative and superlative degrees, formed by merely alter¬ 
ing the termination of the positive, are of this description, 
as whiter, sweeter, wiser, larger, smaller, nobler, kinder, 
truest, falsest, holiest, and a multitude of others. In oth- 





144 RELATIVE SUGGESTION OR JUDGMENT# 

er cases, (and probably the greater number,) the epithei 
expressive of the quality is combined with the adverbs 
more and most , less and least . But certainly we should 
not use such terms if we were not possessed of the power 
of relative suggestion. We should ever be unable to say 
of one apple that it is sweeter than another, or of one 
man that he is taller than another, without considering 
them in certain definite respects, and without perceiving 
certain relations. So that, if we had no knowledge of any 
other than relations of Degree, we should abundantly see 
the importance of the mental susceptibility under review, 
considered as a source of words and of grammatical forms 
in language. 

$ 132. (III.) Of relations of proportion. 

Among other relations which are discovered to us by 
the power of judgment or relative .suggestion, are those 
of proportion; a class of relations which are peculiar in 
this, that they are felt only on the presence of three or 
more objects of thought. They are discoverable particu¬ 
larly in the comparison of numbers, as no one proceeds far 
in numerical combinations without a knowledge of them. 
On examining the numbers two, three, four, twenty, twen- ! 
ty-seven, thirty-two, nine, five, eight, and sixteen, we feel 
certain relations existing among them; they assume a 
new aspect, a new power in the mental view. We per¬ 
ceive (and we can assert , in reference to that perception) 
that three is to nine as nine to twenty-seven; that two 
is to eight as eight to thirty-two; that four is to five as 
sixteen to twenty, &c. 

And when we have once felt or perceived such relation 
actually existing between any one number and others, we 
ever afterward regard it as a property inseparable from 
that number, although the property had remained un¬ 
known to us until we had compared it with others. We 
attach to numbers, under such circumstances, a new at¬ 
tribute, a new power, the same as we do, under similar 
circumstances, to all the other subjects of our knowledge. 
There are many properties, for instance, of external bod¬ 
ies, which were not known to us at first, but, as soon as 
they are discovered, they are, of course, embraced in the 




RELATIVE SUGGESTION OR JUDGMENT. 


145 


general notion which we form of such bodies, and are 
considered as making a part of it. And pursuing the 
same course in respect to numbers, if, on comparing them 
with each other, we perceive certain relations never dis¬ 
covered before, the circumstance of their sustaining those 
relations ever afterward enters into our conception of 
them. 


§ 133. (IV.) Of relations of place or position. 

Other feelings or perceptions of relation arise when 
we contemplate the place or position of objects. Our 
minds are so constituted, that such perceptions are the 
necessary results of our contemplations of the outward ob¬ 
jects by which we are surrounded. Perhaps we are ask¬ 
ed, What we mean by position or place 1 Without pro¬ 
fessing to give a confident answer, since it is undoubtedly 
difficult, by any mere form of words, fully to explain it, we 
have good grounds for saying that we cannot conceive of 
any body as having place, without comparing it with 
some other bodies. If, therefore, having two bodies fixed, 
or which maintain the same relative position, we can com¬ 
pare a third body with them, the third body can then be 
said to have place or position. 

This may be illustrated by the chessmen placed on the 
chessboard. We say the men are in the same place, al¬ 
though the board may have been removed from one room 
to another. We use this language, because we consider 
the men only in relation to each other and the parts of the 
board, and not in relation to the room or parts of the 
room.—Again, a portrait is suspended in the cabin of a 
ship; the captain points to it, and says to a bystander, 
that it has been precisely in the same place this seven 
years. Whereas, in point of fact, it has passed from 
Europe to Africa, from Africa to America, and perhaps 
round the whole world. Still the speaker uttered no 
falsehood, because he spoke of the portrait, (and was so 
understood to speak of it,) in relation to the ship, arid 
particularly the cabin; and not in relation to the parts of 
the world wdiich the ship had visited.—Such instances 
show that place is relative. 

Hence we may clearly have an idea of the place or po- 
N 



146 


RELATIVE SUGGESTION OR JUDGMENT. 


sition of all the different parts of the universe, consider¬ 
ed separately, because they may be compared with oth¬ 
er parts; although we are unable to form any idea of 
the place or position of the universe considered as a 
whole, because we have then no other body with which 
we can compare it. If it were possible for us to know all 
worlds and things at once, to comprehend the universe 
with a glance, we could not assert, with all our knowl¬ 
edge of it, that it is here, or there, or yonder, or tell 
where it would be. 

But if place express a relative notion, then it follows 
that all words which involve or imply the place or posi¬ 
tion of an object are of a similar character. Such are 
the words high and low, superior and inferior, (when used 
in respect to the position of objects,) near and distant, 
above and beneath, further, nearer, hither, yonder, here, 
there, where, beyond, within, around, without, and the 
like. 


$ 134. (V.) Of relations of time. 

Another source of relative perceptions or judgments j 
is time. Time holds nearly the same relation to duration ; 
as position does to space. The position or place of ob¬ 
jects is but space marked out and limited ; time, in like 
manner, is duration set off into distinct periods ; and as 
our notions of the place of bodies are relative, so also are 
our conceptions of events considered as happening in 
time. It is true, that the notions of duration and space 
are in themselves original and absolute ; they are made 
known to us by Original rather than by Relative Sugges¬ 
tion ; but when they are in any way limited, and events 
are thereby contemplated in reference to them under the 
new forms of place and time, certain new conceptions 
arise which are relative. 

All time is contemplated under the aspect of past, pres¬ 
ent, or future. We are able, chiefly in consequence of 
the revolutions of the heavenly bodies, to form a distinct 
notion of portions of time, a day, a month, a year, &c.; 
we can contemplate events, not only as existing at pres¬ 
ent, but as future or past. But always when we think or 
speak of events in time, (in other words, when we speak 




RELATIVE SUGGESTION OR JUDGMENT. 147 

of the date of events,) there is a comparison and a per¬ 
ception cf relation. 

What, therefore, is the import of our language when 
we say, the independence of the North American colo¬ 
nies was declared July fourth, 1776.—The meaning of 
these expressions may be thus illustrated. We assume 
the present year, 1838, as a given period, and reckon back 
to the year one , which coincides with the birth of our Sav¬ 
iour; then the year 1776 expresses the distance between 
these two extremes, viz., one, and eighteen hundred thir- 
ty-eight. This seems to be all we learn when we say, 
the Independence of the United States was declared at the 
period above mentioned.—Again, we obviously mean the 
same thing, and convey the same idea, whether we say 
that the Saviour was bom in the year one of the Christian 
era, or in the year 4004 from the creation of the world. 
But, in the last case, the year 4004 expresses the distance 
between these two extremes, viz., the beginning of the 
world and the present time ; while, in the first instance, 
the event itself forms the beginning of the series.—So 
that all dates appear to be properly classed under the 
head of ideas of relation; and also all names whatever, 
which are in any way expressive of the time of events, 
as a second, a minute, day, week, hour, month, year, cy¬ 
cle, yesterday, to-morrow, to-day, &c. 

§ 135. (VI.) Of ideas of possession. 

Another class of relations may be called relations of 
possession. —Every one knows, that not unfrequently, in 
his examination of objects, there arises a new feeling, 
which is distinct from, and independent of, the mere con¬ 
ceptions of the objects themselves; and which, as it dif¬ 
fers from other feelings of relation, may be^ termed the 
relation of possession or belonging to. This is one of the 
earliest feelings which human beings exercise. When 
we see the small child grasping its top and rattle with 
joy, and disputing the claims of another to a share in 
them, we may know that he has formed the notion of 
possession. It is not only formed in early life, but expe¬ 
rience fully shows that it loses neither activity nor strength 
by the lapse of years. 


148 RELATIVE SUGGESTION OR JUDGMENT. 

The application of the Judgment, or that power by 
which we perceive the relations of things, is frequent in 
this particular form ; and we find here a fruitful source of 
words. The whole class of possessive pronouns, which 
are to be found in all languages, have their origin here; 
such as mine, thine, your, his, her, &c. The relation 
of possession is imbodied also in the genitive case of the 
Greeks, Latins, Germans, and whatever other languages 
express relations in the same way ; in the construct state 
of nouns in the Hebrew and the other cognate dialects; 
and in the preposition of, which is the substitute for the 
genitive termination in English, and the articles de, du, 
de’l, and de la in French. 

The verbs to be in English, esse in Latin, etre in 
French, (and the same may undoubtedly be said of tile 
corresponding verb of existence in all languages,) are 
often employed to express the relation of possession or 
belonging to. To say that the rose is red or the orange 
yellow, is as much as to say that the qualities of yellow¬ 
ness and redness are the possession of, or belong to, the 
rose and orange. But it will be observed, that the rela¬ 
tion is not indicated by the name of the subject, nor by 
the epithet expressive of its quality, but by the verb which 
connects the subject and predicate. And similar remarks 
will apply to some other verbs. 

This class of relations is involved in many complex 
terms, which imply definite qualities and affections of 
mind, as friend, enemy, lover, hater, adorer, worshipper. 
These terms not only indicate certain individuals, to whom 
they are applied, but assert the existence of certain men¬ 
tal affections as their characteristics, and as belonging to 
them. 


$ 136. (VIL) Of relations of cause and effect. 

There are relations also of Cause and Effect. We will 
not delay here to explain the origin of the notions of 
cause and effect, any further than to say that the notion 
of cause, as it first exists in the mind, includes nothing 
more than invariable antecedence. When the antece¬ 
dence to the event, or the sequence of whatever kind, is 
our own volition (and probably in two other cases, 


RELATIVE SUGGESTION OR JUDGMENT. 149 

see § 118,) we have the new idea of power. The idea 
of invariable antecedence, therefore, which of course sup¬ 
poses some sequence, when it is combined with that of 
Power, constitutes the full notion of cause. When the 
sequence is found invariably to follow, and its existence 
cannot be ascribed to anything else, it is called the ef¬ 
fect. Accordingly, men usually give the name of events , 
of occurrences , ox facts, to those things which from time 
to time fall under their notice, when they are considered 
in themselves. They are the mere facts, the mere events, 
and nothing more. But when, in the course of their 
further experience, such events are found to have certain 
invariable forerunners, they cease to apply these terms, 
and call them, in reference to their antecedents, effects. 
And, in like manner, the antecedents are called causes, not 
in themselves considered, but in reference to what inva¬ 
riably comes after. 

Cause and effect, therefore, have certainly a relation to 
each other; it is thus that they exist in the view of the 
mind and in the nature of things, however true it may 
be that men are unable to trace any ‘physical connexion 
between them. We cannot conceive of a cause, if we 
exclude from the list of our ideas the correlative notion 
of effect, nor, on the other hand, do we call anything an 
effect without a reference to some antecedent. These 
two notions, therefore, involve or imply the existence of 
each other; that is, are relative. 

$ 137. Of complex terms involving the relation of cause and effect. 

The suggestion of the relation of Cause and Effect 
exists on occasions almost innumerable ; and in all lan¬ 
guages gives a character to a multitude of words. This 
relation is imbodied, for instance, in a multitude of 
names which are expressive of complex objects, such as 
printer, farmer, sculptor, warrior, writer, poet, manufac¬ 
turer, painter. 

This may be thus illustrated. When we look at any 
interesting piece of statuary, the sight of it naturally sug¬ 
gests its author. But when our mind is thus directed 
from the statue to the sculptor, it is evident we do not 
think of him as we do of a thousand others, but we com- 
N 2 




150 RELATIVE SUGGESTION OR JUDGMENT. 

bine with the conception of the individual a reference to 
what he has done. We unite with the mere complex 
notion of man that of a cause, and this combination evi¬ 
dently alters its character, making it relative instead of 
absolute.—In like manner, when we look at a fine portrait 
or historical painting, we are naturally reminded of the 
artist, whose ingenuity has been displayed in its propor¬ 
tions and colouring. But the word painter, which we ap¬ 
ply to him, expresses not merely the man, but comprises 
the additional notion of the relation of cause, which he 
holds to the interesting picture before us. 

$ 138. Connexion of relative suggestion with reasoning. 

It may be profitable to notice here the connexion which 
relative suggestion has with reasoning in general. The 
suggestions of relation (or elementary judgments, as they 
may perhaps properly be called) are, in some respects, to 
a train of reasoning, what parts are to the whole. But 
they evidently do not of themselves include all the parts 
in a train of reasoning, and are distinguished by this pe¬ 
culiarity, that their office in a great measure is to connect 
together other subordinate parts in the train. In the com¬ 
bination of numbers, and in the various applications of 
demonstrative reasoning, the relations of proportion and 
the relations of identity and diversity, (otherwise called 
of agreement and disagreement,) find a conspicuous place. 
Moral reasoning embraces all kinds of relations, those of 
degree, time, place, possession, and cause and effect, as 
well as of agreement and disagreement, and of propor¬ 
tion. Relative feelings, sometimes of one kind and 
sometimes of another, continually unfold themselves as 
the mind advances in argument. ‘ So that, although there 
are elements in reasoning besides perceptions of relation, 
it is evident that it cannot advance independently of their 
aid. Facts may be accumulated, having close and de¬ 
cisive relations to the points to be proved, but those facts 
can never be so bound together as to result in any decisive 
conclusion, without a perception and knowledge of the 
relations. 


ASSOCIATION, (i.) PRIMARY LAWS. 


151 


CHAPTER V. 


ASSOCIATION. 


(i.) PRIMARY LAWS. 


$ 139. Reasons for considering this subject here. 

In giving an account of the internal origin of knowl¬ 
edge, we might be expected to proceed directly from 
Relative Suggestion to a consideration of the Reasoning 
power, which is one of the most effective and fruitful 
sources of intellectual perception. By means of this 
power, we are enabled to combine and compare the am¬ 
ple materials furnished by original suggestion, conscious¬ 
ness, and relative suggestion, and thus to develope in 
the mind new elements of thought, and to cast light on 
the darkened places in the field of truth. But there are 
powers of the mind, subordinate to the reasoning power, 
and essential to its action, which may with propriety be 
first considered; particularly Association and Memory. 
Other persons, perhaps, in examining the various parts of 
the mind, would propose for the consideration of these 
powers some other place; but we see no valid objection 
to considering them here. On the contrary, they have 
comparatively so little to do with what has gone before, 
and so much to do with what comes after, and, in partic¬ 
ular, are so essential to every process of ratiocination, that 
this seems to be their appropriate position. As associa¬ 
tion is presupposed and involved in memory as well as in 
reasoning, we naturally begin with that principle first. 

§ 140. Meaning of association and illustrations. 

Our thoughts and feelings follow each other in a regu¬ 
lar train. Of this statement no one needs any other 
proof than his individual experience. We all know, not 
only that our minds are susceptible of new states, but, 
what is more, that this capability of new states is not for¬ 
tuitous, but has its laws. Therefore we not only say 
that our thoughts and feelings succeed each other, but 
that this antecedence and sequence is in a regular train. 




152 


ASSOCIATION. 


To this regular and established consecution of the states 
of the mind, we give the name of mental association. 

Illustrations of this important principle, which exerts 
an influence over the emotions and desires as well as over 
the thoughts, are without number. Mr. Hobbes relates, in 
his political treatise of the Leviathan, that he was once 
in company where the conversation turned on the Eng¬ 
lish Civil War. A person abruptly asked, in the course 
of the conversation, What was the value of a Roman 
denarius ? Such a question, so remote from the general 
direction of the conversation, had the appearance not 
only of great abruptness, but of impertinence. Mr. 
Hobbes says, that, on a little reflection, he was able to 
trace the train of thought which suggested the question. 
The original subject of discourse naturally introduced 
the history of King Charles ; the king naturally suggest¬ 
ed the treachery of those who surrendered him up to his 
enemies; the treachery of these persons readily introdu¬ 
ced to the mind the treachery of Judas Iscariot; the con¬ 
duct of Judas was associated with the thirty pieces of 
silver, and, as the Romans occupied Judea at the time of 
the crucifixion of the Saviour, the pieces of silver were 
associated with the Roman denarii. 

“ When I was travelling through the wilds of Ameri¬ 
ca,” says the eloquent Chateaubriand, “ I was not a little 
surprised to hear that I had a countryman established as 
a resident at some distance in the woods. I visited him 
with eagerness, and found him employed in pointing some 
stakes at the door of his hut. He cast a look towards 
me, which was cold enough, and continued his work; but, 
the moment I addressed him in French, he started at the 
recollection of his country, and the big tear stood in his 
eye. These well-known accents suddenly roused, in the 
heart of the old man, all the sensations of his infancy.”* 
—-Such illustrations, which appeal to every one’s con¬ 
sciousness in confirmation of their truth, show what asso¬ 
ciation is. 

$ 141. Of the general laws of association. 

In regard to Association, all that we know is the fact 

* Chateaubriand’s Recollections of Italy, England, and America. 


153 


(i.) PRIMARY LAWS. 

that our thoughts and feelings, under certain circumstan¬ 
ces, appear together and keep each other company. We 
do not undertake to explain why it is that association, in 
the circumstances appropriate to its manifestation, has an 
existence. We know the simple fact; and if it be an 
ultimate principle in our mental constitution, as we have 
no reason to doubt that it is, we can know nothing more. 

Association, as thus understood, has its laws. By the 
Laws of association we mean no other than the general 
designation of those circumstances under which the regu¬ 
lar consecution of mental states which has been mention¬ 
ed occurs. The following may be named as among the 
Primary or more important of those laws, although it is 
not necessary to take upon us to assert either that the 
enumeration is complete, or that some better arrange¬ 
ment of them might not be proposed, viz., resemblance, 
contrast, contiguity in time and place, and cause and 

EFFECT. 

§ 142. Resemblance the first general law of association. 

New trains of ideas and new emotions are occasioned 
by Resemblance; but when we Say that they are occa¬ 
sioned in this way, all that is meant is, that there is a new 
state of mind immediately subsequent to the perception 
of the resembling object. Of the efficient cause of this 
new state of mind under these circumstances, we can only 
say, the Creator of the soul has seen fit to appoint tins 
connexion in its operations, without our being able, or 
deeming it necessary, to give any further explanation. A 
traveller, wandering in a foreign land, finds himself, in the 
course of his sojournings, in the midst of aspects of nature 
not unlike those where he has formerly resided, and the 
fact of this resemblance becomes the antecedent to new 
states of mind. There is distinctly brought before him 
the scenery which he has left, his own woods, his waters, 
and his home.—The enterprising Lander, in giving an 
account of one of his excursions in Africa, expresses him¬ 
self thus. “ The foliage exhibited every variety and tint 
of green, from the sombre shade of the melancholy yew 
to the lively verdure of the poplar and young oak. For 
myself, I was delighted with the agreeable ramble; and 


154 


ASSOCIATION. 


imagined that I could distinguish among the notes of the 
songsters of the grove, the swelling strains of the English 
skylark and thrush, and the more gentle warbling of the 
finch and linnet. It was indeed a brilliant morning, 
teeming with life and beauty; and recalled to my mem¬ 
ory a thousand affecting associations of sanguine boyhood, 
when I was thoughtless and happy.” 

The result is the same in any other case, whenever 
there is a resemblance between what we now experience 
and what we have previously experienced. We have 
been acquainted, for instance, at some former period, with 
a person whose features appeared to us to possess some 
peculiarity; a breadth and openness of the forehead, an 
uncommon expression of the eye, or some other striking 
mark; to-day we meet a stranger in the crowd by which 
we are surrounded, whose features are of a somewhat 
similar cast, and the resemblance at once vividly suggests 
the likeness of our old acquaintance. 

Nor is the association which is based upon resem¬ 
blance limited to objects of sight. Objects which are 
addressed to the sense of hearing are recalled in the 
same way. 

“ How soft the music of those village bells, 

Falling at intervals upon the ear. 

With easy force it opens all the cells 
Where memory slept. Wherever I have heard 
A kindred melody, the scene recurs, 

And with it all its pleasures and its pains.” 

$ 143. Of resemblance in the effects produced. 

Resemblance operates, as an associating principle, not 
only when there is a likeness or similarity in the things 
themselves, but also when there is a resemblance in the 
effects which are produced upon the mind.—The ocean, 
for instance, when greatly agitated by the winds, and 
threatening every moment to overwhelm us, produces in 
the mind an emotion similar to that which is caused by 
the presence of an angry man who is able to do us harm. 
And, in consequence of this similarity in the effects pro¬ 
duced, it is sometimes the case that they reciprocally 
bring each other to our recollection. 

Dark woods, hanging over the brow of a mountain, 


155 


(i.) PRIMARY LAWS. 

cause in us a feeling of awe and wonder, like that which 
we feel when we behold approaching us some aged per¬ 
son, whose form is venerable for his years, and whose 
name is renowned for wisdom and justice. It is in refer¬ 
ence to this view of the principle on which we are re¬ 
marking, that the following comparison is introduced in 
Akenside’s Pleasures of the Imagination: 

“ Mark the sable woods, 

That shade sublime yon mountain’s nodding brow ; 

With what religious awe the solemn scene 
Commands your steps ! As if the reverend form 
Of Minos or of Numa should forsake 
The Elysian seats, and down the embowering glade 
Move to your pausing eye.” 

As we are so constituted that all nature produces in 
us certain effects, causes certain emotions similar to those 
which are caused in us in our intercourse with our fellow- 
beings, it so happens that, in virtue of this fact, the nat¬ 
ural world becomes living, animated, operative. The 
ocean is in anger ; the sky smiles ; the cliff frowns ; the 
aged woods are venerable ; the earth and its productions 
are no longer a dead mass, but have an existence, a soul, 
an agency.—We see here, in part, the foundation of met¬ 
aphorical language; and it is here that we are to look 
for the principles by which we are to determine the pro¬ 
priety or impropriety of its use. 

$ 144. Contrast the second general or primary law. 

Contrast is another law or principle by which our 
successive mental states are suggested; or, in other terms, 
when there are two objects, or events, or situations of a 
character precisely opposite, the idea or conception of one 
is immediately followed by that of the other. When the 
discourse is of the palace of the king, how often are we 
reminded in the same breath of the cottage of the peasant! 
And thus it is that wealth and poverty, the cradle and 
the grave, and hope and despair, are found, in public 
speeches and in writings, so frequently going together, 
and keeping each other company. The truth is, they are 
connected together in our thoughts by a distinct and op¬ 
erative principle; they accompany each other, certainly 
not because there is any resemblance in the things thus 


156 


ASSOCIATION. 


associated, but in consequence of their very marked con¬ 
trariety. Darkness reminds of light, heat of cold, friend¬ 
ship of enmity; the sight of the conqueror is associated 
with the memory of the conquered, and, when beholding 
men of deformed and dwarfish appearance, we are at 
once led to think of those of erect figure or of Patagonian 
size. . Contrast, then, is no less a principle or law of as¬ 
sociation than resemblance itself. 

Count Lemaistre’s touching story, entitled, from the 
scene of its incidents, the Leper of Aost, illustrates the 
effects of the principle of association now under consider¬ 
ation. Like all persons infected with the leprosy, the 
subject of the disease is represented as an object of dread 
no less than of pity to others, and, while he is an outcast 
from the society of men, he is a loathsome spectacle even i 
to himself. But what is the condition of his mind ? What 
are the subjects of his thoughts ? The tendencies of his 
intellectual nature prevent his thinking of wretchedness 
alone. His extreme misery aggravates itself by suggest¬ 
ing scenes of ideal happiness, and his mind revels in a 
paradise of delights merely to give greater intensity to 
his actual woes by contrasting them with imaginary bliss. 

—“I represent to myself continually,” says the Leper, 

“ societies of sincere and virtuous friends; families bless¬ 
ed with health, fortune, and harmony. I imagine I see 
them walk in groves greener and fresher than°these, the 
shade of which makes my poor happiness; brightened by 
a sun more brilliant than that which sheds its beams on ! 
me; and their destiny seems to me as much more worthy 
of envy in proportion as my own is the more miserable.” 

Association by contrast is the foundation of the rhe- j 
toncal figure of Antithesis. In one of the tragedies of 
Southern we find the following antithetic expressions: 


“ Could I forget 

What I have been, I might the better bear 
What I am destined to. I am not the first 
That have been wretched ; but to think how much 
I have been happier.” 


Here the present is placed in opposition with the past, 
and happiness is contrasted with misery; not by a cold 
and strained artifice, as one might be led to suppose, but 





157 


(i.) PRIMARY LAWS. 

by the natural impulses of the mind, which is led to asso¬ 
ciate together things that are the reverse of each other 

$ 145. Contiguity the third general or primary law. 

Those thoughts and feelings which have been connect¬ 
ed together by nearness of time and place, are readily 
suggested by each other; and, consequently, contiguity 
in those respects is rightly reckoned as another and third 
primary law of our mental associations. When we think 
of Palestine, for instance, we very readily and naturally 
think of the Jewish nation, of the patriarchs, of the proph¬ 
ets, of the Saviour, and of the apostles, because Palestine 
was their place of residence and the theatre of their ac¬ 
tions. So that this is evidently an instance where the 
suggestions are chiefly regulated by proximity of place. 
When a variety of acts and events have happened nearly 
at the same period, whether in the same place or not, 
one is not thought of without the other being closely asso¬ 
ciated with it, owing to proximity of time. If, there¬ 
fore, the particular event of the crucifixion of the Saviour 
be mentioned, we are necessarily led to think of various 
other events which occurred about the same period, such 
as the treacherous conspiracy of Judas, the denial of Pe¬ 
ter, the conduct of the Roman soldiery, the rending of the 
vail of the temple, and the temporary obscuration of the 
sun. 

The mention of Egypt suggests the Nile, the Pyramids, 
the monuments of the Thebais, the follies and misfortunes 
of Cleopatra, the battle of Aboukir. The mention of 
Greece is associated with Thermopylae and Salamis, the 
Hill of Mars, and the Vale of Tempe, Ilissus, the steeps 
of Delphi, Lyceum, and the “ olive shades of Academus.” 
These, it will be noticed, are associations on the principle 
of contiguity in place. But if a particular event of great 
interest is mentioned, other events and renowned names, 
which attracted notice at the same period, will eagerly 
cluster around it. The naming of the American revolu¬ 
tion, for instance, immediately fills the mind with recol¬ 
lections of Washington, Franklin, Morris, Greene, Jay, 
and many of their associates, whose fortune it was to en¬ 
list their exertions in support of constitutional rights, not 


158 


ASSOCIATION* 


merely in the same country, (for that circumstance alorie 
might not have been sufficient to have recalled them,) 
but at the same ‘period of time. 

It is generally supposed, and not without reason for it, 
that the third primary law of mental association is more 
extensive in its influence than any others. It has been 
remarked with truth, that proximity in time and place 
forms the basis of the whole calendar of the great mass 
of mankind. They pay but little attention to the arbi¬ 
trary eras of chronology; but date events by each other, ! 
and speak of what happened at the time of some dark 
day, of some destructive overflow of waters, of some great 
eclipse, of some period of drought and famine, of some j 
war or revolution. 

$ 146. Cause and effect the fourth primary law. 

There are certain facts or events which hold to each 
other the relation of invariable antecedence and sequence. 
That fact or event to which some other one sustains the 
relation of constant antecedence, is, in general, called an 
effect. And that fact or event to which some other one 
holds the relation of invariable sequence, has, in general, 
the name of a came. Now there may be no resemblance 
in the things which reciprocally bear this relation; there 
may be no contrariety; and it is by no means necessary 
that there should be contiguity in time or place, as the 
meaning of the term contiguity is commonly understood. 
There may be cause and effect without any one or all 
of these circumstances. But it is a fact which is known 
to every one’s. experience, that, when we think of the 
cause in any particular instance, we naturally think of the 
effect, and, on the contrary, the knowledge or recollection 
of the effect brings to mind the cause.—And in view of 
this well-known and general experience, there is good 
reason for reckoning cause and effect among the pri¬ 
mary principles of our mental associations. What we 
here understand by principles or laws will be recollected, 
viz., The general designation of those circumstances under 
which the regular consecution of mental states occurs. 

It is on the principle of Cause and Effect, that, when 
we see a surgical instrument, or any engine of torture, we 




ASSOCIATION, (il.) SECONDARY LAWS. 159 

have a conception of the pain which they are fitted to 
occasion. And, on the contrary, the sight of a wound, 
inflicted however long before, suggests to us the idea of 
the instrument by which it was made. Mr. Locke re¬ 
lates an incident, which illustrates the statements made 
here, of a man who was restored from a state of insanity 
by means of a harsh and exceedingly painful operation. 
“ The gentleman who was thus recovered, with great 
sense of gratitude and acknowledgment, owned the cure 
all his life after, as the greatest obligation he could have 
received; but, whatever gratitude and reason suggested 
to him, he could never bear the sight of the operator; 
that image brought back with it the idea of that agony 
which he suffered from his hands, which was too mighty 
and intolerable for him to endure.”—The operation of the 
law of Cause and Effect, in the production of new asso¬ 
ciations, seems to be involved in the following character¬ 
istic passage of Shakspeare, Henry IV., 2d pt., act i.: 

“Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news 
Hath but a losing office ; and his tongue 
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, 

Remember’d knolling a departed friend.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

ASSOCIATION, (il.) SECONDARY LAWS. 

§ 147. Secondary laws, and their connexion with the primary. 

The subject of Association is not exhausted in the enu¬ 
meration and explanation of its Laws which has thus far 
been given. Besides the primary laws, which have fall¬ 
en under our consideration, there are certain marked and 
prominent circumstances, which are found to exert, in a 
greater or less degree, a modifying and controlling influ¬ 
ence over the more general principles. As this influence 
is of a permanent character, and not merely accidental 
and temporary, the grounds or sources of it are called, by 
way of distinction, secondary laws. —These are four in 
number, viz., lapse of Time, degree of co-existent Feel- 



160 


ASSOCIATION. 


ing, repetition or Habit, and original or constitutional 
Difference in character. 

It must at once be obvious, that these principles, al¬ 
though holding a subordinate rank, give an increased 
range and power to the primary laws. It is not to be 
inferred from the epithet by which they are distinguished, 
that they are, therefore, of a very minor and inconsidera¬ 
ble importance. On the contrary, human nature without 
them, as far as we are capable of judging, would have 
assumed a sort of fixed and inflexible form, instead of 
presenting those pleasing and almost endless diversities it 
now does.—The primary laws are the great national roads 
along which the mind holds its course ; the secondary are 
those cross-roads that intersect them from time to time, 
and thus afford an entrance into, and a communication 
with, the surrounding country; and yet all have a con¬ 
nexion with each other; and with all their turnings and 
intersections, concur at last in the ultimate destination. 

$ 148. Of the influence of lapse of time. 

The first of the four secondary laws which we shall 
consider, is lapse of time. Stated more particularly, the 
law is this: Our trains of thought and emotion are more 
or less strongly connected and likely to be restored, ac¬ 
cording as the lapse of time has been greater or less. 

Perhaps no lapse of time, however great, will utterly 
break the chain of human thought, and cause an entire 
inability of restoring our former experiences; but it ap¬ 
pears evident from observation, as much so as observation 
renders evident in almost any case, that every additional 
moment of intervening time weakens, if it do not break 
and sunder, the bond that connects the present with the 
past, and diminishes the probability of such a restoration. 
We remember many incidents, even of a trifling nature, 
which occurred to-day, or the present week, while those 
of yesterday or of last week are forgotten. But if the 
increased period of months and years throws itself be¬ 
tween the present time and the date of our past experi¬ 
ences, our ancient joys, regrets, and sufferings, then how 
unfrequent is their recurrence, and how weak and shad¬ 
owy they appear! Increase the lapse of time a little 


161 


(n.) secondary laws. 

further, and a dark cloud rests on that portion of our his¬ 
tory ; less substantial than a dream, it utterly eludes our 
search, and becomes to us as if it never had been. 

There is, however, an apparent exception to this law 
which should be mentioned. The associated feelings of 
old men, which were formed in their youth and the early 
part of manhood, are more readily revived than those of 
later origin.—On this state of things in old men, two re¬ 
marks are to be made. The first is, that the law under 
consideration fully and unfailingly maintains itself in the 
case of aged persons, whenever the time is not extended 
far back. Events which happened but a few hours be¬ 
fore are remembered, while there is an utter forgetfulness 
of those which happened a few weeks or even days be¬ 
fore. So far as this, the law operates in old men precise¬ 
ly as in others. The second remark is, that the failure 
of its operation in respect to the events of youth, is caused, 
not by an actual inability in the secondary law before us, 
to blot out and diminish here as in other cases, but by the 
greater power of the combined action of two other laws, 
viz., Co-existent feeling, and Repetition or habit. Our 
early life, as a general statement, was the most deeply in¬ 
teresting, and is the most frequently recurred to ; and in 
this way its recollections become so incorporated with the 
mind as to hold a sort of precedence over our more recent 
experiences, and thrust them from their proper place. 

§ 149. Secondary law of repetition or habit. 

Another secondary law is repetition ; in other words, 
successions of thought are the more readily suggested in 
proportion as they are the more frequently renewed. If 
we experience a feeling once, and only once, we find it 
difficult to recall it after it has gone from us; but repeat¬ 
ed experience increases the probability of its recurring. 
Every schoolboy who is required to commit to memory, 
puts this law to the test, and proves it. Having read a 
sentence a number of times, he finds himself able to re¬ 
peat it out of book, which he could not do with merely 
reading it once. 

The operation of this law is seen constantly in partic- 
lar arts and professions. If men be especially trained up 
02 


182 


ASSOCIATION. 


to certain trades, arts, or sciences, their associations on 
those particular subjects, and on everything connected 
with them, are found to be prompt and decisive. We 
can but seldom detect any hesitancy or mistake within 
the circle where their minds have been accustomed to 
operate, because every thought and process have been 
recalled and repeated thousands of times. With almost 
everything they see or hear, there is a train of reflection, 
connecting it with their peculiar calling, and bringing it 
within the beaten and consecrated circle. Every hour, 
unless they guard against it, hastens the process which 
threatens to cut them off, and insulate them from the 
great interests of humanity, and to make them wholly 
professional. 

“ Still o’er those scenes their memory wakes, 

And fondly broods with miser care ; 

Time but the impression stronger makes ; 

As streams their channels deeper wear.” 

§ 150. Of the secondary law of co-existent emotion. 

A third secondary law is co-existent emotion. —It may 
be stated in other words as follows: The probability that 
our mental states will be recalled by the general laws, 
will in part depend on the depth of feeling, the degree 
of interest, which accompanied the original experience of 
them. 

Why are bright objects more readily recalled than 
faint or obscure 1 It is not merely because they occupied 
more distinctly our perception, but because they more en¬ 
gaged our attention and interested us, the natural conse¬ 
quence of that greater distinctness. Why do those events 
in our personal history, which were accompanied with 
great joys and sorrows, stand out like pyramids in our 
past life, distinct to the eye, and immoveable in their po¬ 
sition, while others have been swept away and cannot be 
found ? Merely because there were joy and sorrow in 
the one case, and not at all, or only in a slight degree, in 
the other; because the sensitive part of our nature com¬ 
bined itself with the intellectual; the Heart gave activi¬ 
ty to the operations of the Understanding. 

We learn from the Bible that the Jews, in their state 
of exile, could not forget Jerusalem, the beloved and 


163 


(il.) SECONDARY LAWS. 

beautiful City. And why not ? How did it happen 
that, in their Captivity, they sat down by the rivers of 
Babylon, wept when they remembered Zion, and hung 
their harps on the willows? It was because Jerusalem 
was not only an object of thought, but of feeling. They 
had not only known her gates and fountains, her pleasant 
dwelling-places and temples, but had loved them. The 
Holy City w T as not a lifeless abstraction of the head ; but 
a sacred and delightful image, engraven in the heart. 
And hence it was, that, in their solitude and sorrow, she 
arose before them so distinctly, “ The morning star of 
memory.” 

§ 151. Original difference in the mental constitution. 

The fourth and last secondary law of association is 

ORIGINAL DIFFERENCE IN THE MENTAL CONSTITUTION. This 

Law, it will be noticed, is expressed in the most general 
terms; and is to be considered, therefore, as applicable 
both to the Intellectual and the Sensitive part of man. 
It requires, accordingly, to be contemplated in two distinct 
points of view. 

The law of original difference in the mental constitu¬ 
tion is applicable, in the first place, to the Intellect, prop¬ 
erly and distinctively so called; in other words, to the 
comparing, judging, and reasoning part of the soul. That 
there are differences in men intellectually, it is presumed 
will hardly be doubted, although this difference is per¬ 
ceptible in different degrees, and in some cases hardly 
perceptible at all. And these original or constitutional 
peculiarities reach and affect the associating principle, as 
well as other departments of intellectual action. The as¬ 
sociations of the great mass of mankind (perhaps it may 
be entirely owing in some cases to the accidental circum¬ 
stance of a want of education and intellectual develope- 
mentj appear to run exclusively in the channel ol Conti¬ 
guity in time and place. They contemplate objects in 
their nearness and distance, in their familiar and outward 
exhibitions, without examining closely into analogies and 
differences, or considering them in the important relation 
of cause and effect. But not unfrequently we find persons 
■whose minds are differently constructed, who exhibi a 




164 


ASSOCIATION. 


higher order of perception. But even in these cases we 
sometimes detect a striking difference in the application 
of their intellectual powers. One person, for instance, 
has from childhood exhibited a remarkable command of 
the relations and combinations of numbers; another ex¬ 
hibits, in like manner, an uncommon perception of uses, 
adaptations, and powers, as they are brought together, 
and set to work in the mechanic arts; another has the 
power of generalizing in an uncommon degree, and, hav¬ 
ing obtained possession of a principle in a particular case, 
which may appear to others perfectly and irretrievably 
insulated, he at once extends it to hundreds and thousands 
of other cases. In no one of these instances does the As¬ 
sociating power operate in precisely the same way, but 
exhibits in each a new aspect or phasis of action. 

It it is perhaps unnecessary to delay here, for the pur¬ 
pose of confirming what has now been said by a refer¬ 
ence to the history of individuals. A slight acquaintance 
with literary history will show that diversities of intellect, 
such as have been alluded to, and founded too in a great 
degree on peculiarities of the associating principle, have 
been frequent. How often had the husbandman seen the 
apple fall to the ground without even asking for the cause 1 
But when Newton saw the fall of an apple, he not only 
asked for the cause, but, having conjectured it, he at once 
perceived its applicability to everything in like circum¬ 
stances around him, to all the descending bodies on the 
earth’s surface. And this was not all, Immediately ex¬ 
panding the operations of the principle which he had 
detected, from the surface of the earth to the stars of 
heaven, he showed its universality, and proved that the 
most distant planet is controlled by the same great law 

which regulates the particles of dust beneath our feet._ 

Here was a mind, not merely great by toil, but constitu¬ 
tionally great and inventive ; a mind which was regula¬ 
ted in its action, not by the law of mere contiguity in time 
and place, but by the more effective associating principles 
of Analogy, and of Cause and Effect. 

$ 152. The foregoing law as applicable to the sensibilities. 

The law under consideration holds good, in the second 


165 


(il.) SECONDARY LAWS* 

place, in respect to original differences of emotion and 
passion, or, as it is more commonly expressed, of disposi¬ 
tion. It will help to make us understood if we allude 
briefly in this part of the subject to two different classes 
of persons. One of the descriptions of men which we 
have now in view is composed of those, for such are un¬ 
doubtedly to be found, who are of a pensive and melan¬ 
choly turn. From their earliest life they have shown 
a fondness for seclusion, in order that they might either 
commune with the secrets of their own hearts, or hold in¬ 
tercourse, imdisturbed by others, with whatever of im¬ 
pressiveness and sublimity is to be found in the works of 
nature. The other class are naturally of a lively and 
cheerful temperament. If they delight in nature, it is 
not in solitude, but in the company of others. While 
they seldom throw open their hearts for the admission of 
troubled thoughts, they oppose no obstacle to the entrance 
of the sweet beams of peace, and joy, and hope. 

Now it is beyond question that the primary laws of as¬ 
sociation are influenced by the constitutional tendencies 
manifest in these two classes of persons; that is to say, 
in the minds of two individuals, the one of a cheerful, the 
other of a melancholy or gloomy disposition, the trains 
of thought will be very different. This difference is fine¬ 
ly illustrated in those beautiful poems of Milton, l’alle- 
gro and il penseroso. L’ allegro, or the cheerful man, 
finds pleasure and cheerfulness in every object which he 
beholds. The great sun puts on his amber light, the 
mower whets his scythe, the milkmaid sings, 

u And every shepherd tells his tale 
Under the hawthorn in the dale.” 

But the man of a melancholy disposition, il penseroso, 
chooses the evening for his walk, as most suitable to the 
temper of his mind; he listens from some lonely hillock 
to the distant curfew, and loves to hear the song of that 
“ sweet bird, 

“ That shun’st the noise of folly, 

Most musical, most melancholy.” 

Further: Our trains of suggested thoughts will be 
modified by those temporary feelings, which may be re- 




166 


MEMORY. 


garded as exceptions to the more general character of 
our dispositions. The cheerful man is not always cheer¬ 
ful, nor is the melancholy man at all times equally sober 
and contemplative. They are known to exchange char¬ 
acters for short periods, sometimes in consequence of good 
or ill health, or of happy or adverse fortune, and some¬ 
times for causes which cannot be easily explained. So 
that our mental states will be found to follow each other 
with a succession, varying not only with the general char¬ 
acter of our temper and dispositions, but with the transi¬ 
tory emotions of the day or hour. 

All the laws of association may properly be given here 
in a condensed view. The primary or general laws are 
resemblance, contrast, contiguity in time and place, 
and cause and effecf. Those circumstances which are 
found particularly to modify and control the action of 
these, are termed secondary laws, and are as follows: 
Lapse of time, Repetition or habit, Co-existent feeling, 
and Constitutional difference in mental character. 


CHAPTER m 


MEMORY. 

§ 153. Remarks on the general nature of memory. 

In the further prosecution of our subject, we naturally 
proceed from Association to the examination of the 
Memory, inasmuch as the latter necessarily implies the 
antecedent existence of the former, and in its very na¬ 
ture is closely allied to it. In reference to the great ques¬ 
tion of the Origin of human Knowledge, the Memory, as 
has already been intimated, is to be considered a source 
of knowledge, rather in its connexion with other mental 
susceptibilities than in itself. It does not appear how 
we could form any abstract ideas, based upon a knowl¬ 
edge of objects and classes of objects, without the aid of 
memory; and it is well known, that its presence and ac¬ 
tion is essentially involved in all the exercises of the rea- 



MEMORY. 


167 


sonlng power and of the imagination. Without delaying, 
however, on its connexion with the origin of knowledge, 
we shall proceed to consider the susceptibility itself, both 
in its general nature and in some of its peculiarities. 

Memory is that power or susceptibility of the mind by 
which those conceptions are originated which are modi¬ 
fied by a perception of the relation of past time. Ac¬ 
cordingly, it is not a simple, but complex action of the 
intellectual principle, implying, (1.) a conception of the 
object; (2.) a perception of the relation of priority in its 
existence. That is, we not only have a conception of 
the object, but this conception is attended with the con¬ 
viction that it underwent the examination of our senses, 
or was in some way perceived by us at some former pe¬ 
riod. 

When we imagine that we stand in the midst of a for¬ 
est or on the top of a mountain, but remain safe all the 
while at our own fireside, these pleasing ideas of woods, 
and of skies painted over us, and of plains under our 
feet, are mere conceptions. But when with these insu¬ 
lated conceptions we connect the relation of time, and 
they gleam upon our souls as the woods, plains, and 
mountains of our youthful days, then those intellectual 
states, which were before mere conceptions, become re¬ 
membrances. And the power which the mind possesses 
of originating these latter complex states, is what usually 
goes under the name of the power or faculty of memory. 

§ 154. Of memory as a ground or law of belief. 

Memory, as explained in the preceding section, is a 
ground or law of Belief. So far as we have no particu¬ 
lar reason to doubt that the sensations and perceptions in 
any given case are correctly reported in the remembrance, 
the latter controls our belief and actions not less than 
those antecedent states of mind on which it is founded. 
Such is the constitution of the human mind.—It will be 
noticed, that, in asserting the natural dependence of be¬ 
lief on memory, we guard it by an express limitation. It 
is only when we have no reason to doubt of our antece¬ 
dent experiences being correctly reported in the remem¬ 
brances, that our reliance on them is of the highest kind. 


168 


MEMORY. 


Every man knows, from a species of internal feeling, 
whether there be grounds for doubting his memory in any 
particular case or not; for the same Consciousness which 
gives him a knowledge of the fact of memory, gives him 
a knowledge of the degree also in which it exists; viz., 
whether in a high degree or low, whether distinct or ob¬ 
scure. If it be the fact that he finds reason for suspect¬ 
ing its reports, his reliance will either be diminished in 
proportion to this suspicion, or he will take means, if he 
be able to, to remove the grounds of such suspicion. 

It cannot reasonably be anticipated, that any objection 
will be made to the doctrine of a reliance on memory, 
with the limitation which has now been mentioned. 
Without such reliance, our situation would be no better, 
at least, than if we had been framed with an utter ina¬ 
bility to rely on the Senses or on Testimony; we could 
hardly sustain an existence; we certainly could not de¬ 
rive anything in aid of that existence from the experi¬ 
ence of the past. 

$ 155. Of differences in the strength of memory. 

The ability to remember is the common privilege of all, 
and, generally speaking, it is possessed in nearly equal 
degrees. To each one there is given a sufficient readi¬ 
ness in this respect; his power of remembrance is such as 
to answer all the ordinary purposes of life. But, although 
there is, in general, a nearly equal distribution of this 
power, we find a few instances of great weakness, and 
other instances of great strength of memory. 
t It is related by Seneca of the Roman orator Horten- 
sius, that, after sitting a whole day at a public sale, he 
gave an account, from memory, in the evening, of all things 
sold, with the prices and the names of the purchasers; 
and this account, when compared with what had been 
taken in writing by a notary, was found to be exact in 
eY particular. 



The following is an instance of strength of memory 
somewhat remarkable.—An Englishman, at a certain 
time, came to Frederic the Great of Prussia, for the ex¬ 
press purpose of giving him an exhibition of his power of 
recollection. Frederic sent for Voltaire, who read to the 



MEMORY. 


169 


king a pretty long poem which he had just finished. The 
Englishman was present, and was in such a position that 
he could hear every word of the poem; but was conceal¬ 
ed from Voltaire’s notice. After the reading of the poem 
was finished, Frederic observed to the author that the 
production could not be an original one, as there was a 
foreign gentleman present who could recite every word 
ot it. Voltaire listened with amazement to the stranger, 
as he repeated, word for word, the poem which he had 
been at so much pains in composing; and, giving way to 
a momentary freak of passion, he tore the manuscript in 
pieces. A statement was then made to him of the cir¬ 
cumstances under which the Englishman became ac¬ 
quainted with his poem, which had the effect to mitigate 
his anger, and he was very willing to do penance for the 
suddenness of his passion by copying down the work 
from a second repetition of it by the stranger, who was 
able to go through with it as before. 

A considerable number of instances of this description 
are found in the recorded accounts of various individuals; 
but they must be considered as exceptions to the general 
features of the human mind, the existence of which it is 
difficult to explain on any known principles. They are 
probably original and constitutional traits; and, if such 
be the case, they necessarily preclude any explanation 
further than what is involved in the mere statement of 
that fact. There are, however, some diversities and pe¬ 
culiarities of memory, less striking, perhaps, than those 
just referred to, which admit a more detailed notice. 

$ 156. Of circumstantial memory, or that species of memory which is 
based on the relations of contiguity in time and place. 

There is a species of memory, more than usually obvi¬ 
ous and outward in its character, which is based essen¬ 
tially upon the relations of Contiguity in time and place. 
—In the explanation of this form or species of memory, 
it may be proper to recur a moment to the explanations 
on the general nature of memory which have already been 
given. It will be kept in mind, that our remembrances 
are merely conceptions modified by a perception of the 
relation of past time. Removing, then, the modification 


170 


MEMORY. 


of past time, and the remaining element of our remem¬ 
brances will be conceptions merely. Our conceptions, it 
is obvious, cannot be called up by a mere voluntary ef¬ 
fort, because to will the existence of a conception neces¬ 
sarily implies the actual existence of the conception al¬ 
ready in the mind. They arise in the mind, therefore, in 
obedience to the influence of some of those principles of 
association which have already been considered. And 
Memory, accordingly, will assume a peculiarity of aspect 
corresponding co the associating principle which predom¬ 
inates. If it be based, for instance, on the law of Con- 
tiguity, as it will deal chiefly with mere facts, and their 
outward incidents and circumstances, without entering 
deeply into their interior nature, it will be what may be 
described, not merely as an obvious and practical, but, in 
particular, as a circumstantial memory. If it be based 
chiefly on the other principles, it may be expected to ex¬ 
hibit a less easy and flexible, a less minute and specific, 
but a more philosophical character. 

That species of memory which is founded chiefly on 
the law of contiguity, and which is distinguished by its 
specificalness or circumstantiality, will be found to pre¬ 
vail especially among uneducated people, not merely arti¬ 
sans and other labouring classes, but among all those, in 
whatever situation of life, who have either not possessed, 
or possessing, have not employed, the means of intellect¬ 
ual culture. Every one must have recollected instances 
of the great readiness .exhibited by these persons, in their 
recollection of facts, places, times, names, specific arrange¬ 
ments in dress and in buildings, traditions, and local inci¬ 
dents. In their narrations, for instance, of what has come 
within their knowledge, they will, in general, be found 
to specify the time of events; not merely an indefinite or 
approximated time, but the identical year, and month, 
and day, and hour. In their description of persons and 
places, and in their account of the dress and equipage of 
persons, and of the localities and incidents of places, they 
are found to be no less particular. 

$ 157. Illustrations of specific or circumstantial memory. 

The great masters of human nature (Shakspeare among 


MEMORY. 


171 


others) have occasionally indicated their knowledge of 
this species of memory. Mrs. Quickly, in reminding Fal- 
staff of his promise of marriage, discovers her readiness 
of recollection in the specification of the great variety of 
circumstances under which the promise was made. Her 
recollection in the case was not a mere general remem¬ 
brance of the solitary fact, but was, in the manner of a 
witness in a court of justice, circumstantial.—“ Thou didst 
swear to me on a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dolphin 
chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, on Wed¬ 
nesday in Whitsun week, when the prince broke thy head 
for likening him to a singing man of Windsor.”—The 
coachman in Cornelius Scriblerus gives an account of 
what he had seen in Bear Garden: “ Two men fought for 
a prize; one was a fair man, a sergeant in the guards ; 
the other black, a butcher; the sergeant had red trousers, 
the butcher blue; they fought upon a stage about four 
o’clock, and the sergeant wounded the butcher in the leg.” 

§ 158. Of philosophic memory, or that species of memory which is based 
on other relations than those of contiguity. 

There is another species of memory, clearly distinguish¬ 
able from the circumstantial memory, which may be de¬ 
scribed as the Philosophic. This form of memory, relying 
but seldom on the aids of mere Contiguity, is sustained 
chiefly by the relations of Resemblance, Contrast, and 
Cause and Effect. The circumstantial memory, which 
deals almost exclusively with minute particulars, and es¬ 
pecially with those which are accessible by the outward 
senses, admirably answers the purpose of those persons in 
whom it is commonly found. But mere contiguity in time 
and place, which is almost the sole principle that binds 
together facts and events in the recollection of those whose 
powers are but imperfectly developed, possesses compar¬ 
atively little value in the estimation of the philosopher. 
He looks more deeply into the nature of things. Bestow¬ 
ing but slight attention on what is purely outward and 
incidental, he detects with a discriminating eye the anal¬ 
ogies and oppositions, the causes and consequences of 
events. It would seem that the celebrated Montaigne 
was destitute, perhaps in a more than common degree, of 


172 


MEMORY. 


that form of reminiscence which we have proposed to 
designate as the circumstantial memory. He says on a 
certain occasion of himself, “ I am forced to call my ser¬ 
vants by the names of their employments, or of the coun¬ 
tries where they were born, for I can hardly remember 
their proper names; and if I should live long, I question 
whether I should remember my own name.” But it does 
not appear, notwithstanding his inability to remember 
names and insulated facts, especially if they related to 
the occurrences of common life, that he had much reason 
to complain of an absolute want of memory. His wri¬ 
tings indicate his cast of mind, that he was reflective and 
speculative; and he expressly gives us to understand, that 
he was much more interested in the study of the princi¬ 
ples of human nature than of outward objects. Accord- 
ingly, the result was such as might be expected, that his 
memory was rather philosophical than circumstantial, 
and more tenacious of general principles than of specific 
facts. 


§ 159. Illustrations of philosophic memory. 

A man whose perceptions are naturally philosophic, and 
whose remembrances consequently take the same turn, 
may not be able to make so rapid and striking advances 
in all branches of knowledge, as a person of a different 
intellectual bias. Almost every department of science 
presents itself to the student’s notice under two forms, 
the practical and theoretical; its facts and its rules of 
proceeding on the one hand, and its principles on the 
other. The circumstantial memory rapidly embraces the 
practical part, seizing its facts and enunciating its rules 
with a promptness of movement and a show of power 
which throws the philosophic memory quite into the 
shade. But it is otherwise when they advance into the 
less obvious and showy, but more fertile region of analo¬ 
gies, classification, and principles.—On this topic Mr. 
Stewart has some pertinent remarks. “ A man destitute 
of genius,” [that is to say, in this connexion, of a natu¬ 
rally philosophic turn of mind,] “ may, with little effort, 
treasure up in his memory a number of particulars in 
chemistry or natural history, which he refers to no prin- 


MEMORY. 


173 






ciple, and from which he deduces no conclusion; and from 
his facility in acquiring this stock of information, may 
flatter himself with the belief that he possesses a natural 
taste for these branches of knowledge. But they who 
are really destined to extend the boundaries of science, 
when they first enter on new pursuits, feel their attention 
distracted, and their memory overloaded with facts, 
among which they can trace no relation, and are some¬ 
times apt to despair entirely of their future progress. In 
due time, however, their superiority appears, and arises 
in part from that very dissatisfaction which they at first 
experienced, and which does not cease to stimulate their 
inquiries, till they are enabled to trace, amid a chaos of 
apparently unconnected materials, that simplicity and 
beauty which always characterize the operations of na¬ 


ture.” 


§ 160. Of that species of memory called intentional recollection. 

There is a species or exercise of the memory known 
as intentional recollection, the explanation of which 
renders it proper briefly to recur again to the nature of 
memory in general.—The definition of memory which has 
been given, is, that it is the power or susceptibility of the 
mind, by which those conceptions are originated, which 
are modified by the perception of the relation of past 
time. This definition necessarily resolves memory, in a 
considerable degree at least, into Association. But it will 
be recollected, that our trains of associated thought are 
not, in the strict sense, voluntary ; that is, are not directly 
under the control of the will. They come and depart 
(we speak now exclusively of their origination ) without 
its being possible for us to exercise anything more than 
an indirect power over them. It follows, from these 
facts, that our remembrances also, which may be regard¬ 
ed in part as merely associated trains, are not, in the 
strict sense, voluntary; or, in other words, it is impossible 
for us to remember in consequence of merely choosing to 
remember. To will or to choose to remember any¬ 
thing, implies that the tiling in question is already in the 
mind; and hence there is not only an impossibility result¬ 
ing from the nature of the mind, but also an absurdity, in 
P 2 



174 


MEMORY. 


the idea of calling up thought by a mere direct volition. 
Our chief power, therefore, in quickening and strength¬ 
ening the memory, will be found to consist in our skill in 
applying and modifying the various principles or laws of 
association. And this brings us to an explanation of 
what is called intentional memory or recollection. 

§ 161. Nature of intentional recollection. 

Whenever we put forth an exercise of intentional 
memory, or make a formal attempt to remember some cir¬ 
cumstance, it is evident that the event in general, of 
which the circumstance, when recalled, will be found to 
be a part, must have previously been an object of atten¬ 
tion. That is, we remember the great outlines of some 
story, but cannot in the first instance give a complete ac¬ 
count of it, which we wish to do. We make an effort to 

recall the circumstances not remembered in two ways._ 

We may, in \hejirst place, form different suppositions, 
and see which agrees best with the general outlines ; the 
general features or outlines of the subject being detained 
before us, with a considerable degree of permanency, by 
means of some feeling of desire or interest. This method 
of restoring thoughts is rather an inference of reasoning 
than a genuine exercise of memory. 

We may, in the second place, merely delay upon those 
thoughts which we already hold possession of, and re¬ 
volve them in our minds; until, aided by some principle 
of association, w r e are able to lay hold of the particular 
ideas for which we were searching. Thus, when we en¬ 
deavour to recite what we had previously committed to 
memory, but are at a loss for a particular passage, we 
repeat a number of times the concluding words of the 
preceding sentence. In this way, the sentence which 
was forgotten is very frequently recalled. 

§ .162. Instance illustrative of the preceding statements. 

The subject of the preceding section will perhaps be 
more distinctly understood, in connexion with the follow¬ 
ing illustration. Dr. Beattie informs us, that he was him¬ 
self acquainted with a clergyman, who, on being attack¬ 
ed with a fit of apoplexy, was found to have forgotten 


MEMORY. 


175 


all the transactions of the four years immediately pre¬ 
ceding the attack. And yet he remembered as well as 
ever what had happened before that period. The news¬ 
papers which were printed during the period mentioned, 
were read with interest, and afforded him a great deal of 
amusement, being entirely new to him. It is further 
stated, that this individual recovered by degrees all he 
had lost; so as, after a while, to have nearly or quite as 
full a remembrance of that period as others. In this in¬ 
stance the power of the principles of association appears 
to have been at first completely prostrated by the disease, 
without any prospect of their being again brought into 
action, except by some assistance afforded them. This 
assistance, no doubt, was conversation, the renewed no¬ 
tice of various external objects addressed to the senses, 
and reading. By reading old newspapers, and by con¬ 
versation in particular, he occasionally fell upon ideas 
which he had not only been possessed of before, but 
which had been associated with other ideas, forming 
originally distinct and condensed trains of thought. And 
thus whole series were restored.—Other series again were 
recovered by applying the methods of intentional recol¬ 
lection ; that is, by forming suppositions and comparing 
them with the ideas already recovered, or by voluntarily 
delaying upon and revolving in mind such trains as were 
restored, and thus rousing up others. Such we can hard¬ 
ly doubt to have been, in the main, the process by which 
the person of whom we are speaking recovered the 
knowledge he had lost. 

These views, in addition to what has now been said, 
may be illustrated also by what we sometimes observe in 
old men. Question them as to the events of early life, 
and at times they will be unable to give any answer 
whatever. But whenever you mention some prominent 
incident of their young days, or perhaps some friend on 
whom many associations have gathered, it will often be 
found that their memory revives, and that they are able 
to state many things in respect to which they were pre¬ 
viously silent. 

$ 163. Marks of a good memory. 

The great purpose to which the faculty of memory is 






176 


MEMORY. 


subservient, is to enable us to retain the knowledge which 
we have from our experiences for future use. The 
prominent marks of a good memory, therefore, are these 
two, viz., tenacity in retaining ideas, and readiness in 
bringing them forward on necessary occasions. 

First ; of tenacity, or power of retaining ideas.—The 
impressions which are made on some minds are durable. 
They are like channels worn away in stone, and names 
engraven in monumental marble, which defy the opera¬ 
tion of the ordinary causes of decay, and withstand even 
the defacing touch of time. But other memories, which 
at first seemed to grasp as much, are destitute of this 
power of retention. The inscriptions made upon them 
are like characters written on the sand, which the first 
breath of wind covers over, or like figures on a bank of 
snow, which the sun shines upon and melts. The inferi¬ 
ority of the latter description of memory to the former 
must be obvious; so -much so as to require no comment. 
A memory, whose power of retaining is greatly dimin¬ 
ished, of course loses a great part of its value. 

Second; of readiness, or facility in bringing forward 
what is remembered.—Some persons who cannot be sup¬ 
posed to be deficient in tenacity of remembrance, appear 
to fail in a confident and prompt command of what they 
remember. Some mistake has been committed in the ar¬ 
rangement of their knowledge; there has been some de¬ 
fect in the mental discipline; or for some other cause, 
whatever it may be, they often discover perplexity, and’ 
remember slowly and indistinctly. This is a great prac¬ 
tical evil, which not only ought to be, but which can, in 
a great degree, be guarded against. 

It is true, that so great readiness of memory cannot 
rationally be expected in men of philosophic minds as 
others, for the reason that they pay but little or no atten¬ 
tion to particular facts, except for the purpose of dedu¬ 
cing from them general principles. But it is no less true 
that, when this want of readiness is such as to cause a 
considerable degree of perplexity, it must be regarded a 
great mental defect. And, for the same reason, a prompt 
command of knowledge is to be regarded a mental ex- • 
cellence. 


MEMORY. 


177 


§ 164. Directions or rules for the improvement of the memory. 

In whatever point of view the memory may he con¬ 
templated, it must be admitted that it is a faculty always 
seeming to us inestimable benefits. For the purpose of 
securing the most efficient action of this valuable faculty, 
and particularly that tenacity and readiness which have 
been spoken of, the following directions may be found 
worthy of attention. 

(I.) Never be satisfied with a'partial or half-acquaint¬ 
ance with things. —There is no less a tendency to intel¬ 
lectual than to bodily inactivity; students, in order to 
avoid intellectual toil, are too much inclined to pass on 
in a hurried and careless manner. This is injurious to 
the memory. “ Nothing,” says Dugald Stewart, “ has 
such a tendency to weaken, not only the powers of inven¬ 
tion, but the intellectual powers in general, as a habit of 
extensive and various reading without reflection.” Al¬ 
ways make it a rule fully to understand what is gone 
over. Those who are determined to grapple with the 
subject in hand, whatever may be its nature, and to be¬ 
come master of it, soon feel a great interest; truths, 
which were at first obscure, become clear and familiar. 
The consequence of this increased clearness and interest 
is an increase of attention ; and the natural result of this 
is, that the truths are very strongly fixed in the memory. 

(II.) We are to refer our knowledge , as much as possi¬ 
ble , to general principles. —To refer our knowledge to 
general principles is to classify it; and this is perhaps the 
best mode of classification. If a lawyer or merchant 
were to throw all his papers together promiscuously, 
he could not calculate on much readiness in finding 
what he might at any time want. If a man of letters 
were to record in a commonplace book all the ideas and 
facts which occurred to him, without any method, he 
would experience the greatest difficulty in applying them 
to use. It is the same with a memory where there is no 
classification. Whoever fixes upon some general princi¬ 
ples, whether political, literary, or philosophical, and col¬ 
lects facts in illustration of it, will find no difficulty in re¬ 
membering them, however numerous; when, without such 
general principles, the recollection of them would have 
been extremely burdensome. 


178 


Memory. 


(III.) Consider the nature of the study , and make use of 
those helps which are thus afforded .—This rule may be 
illustrated by the mention of some departments of sci¬ 
ence. Thus, in acquiring a knowledge of geography, 
the study is to be pursued as much as possible with the 
aid of good globes, charts, and maps. It requires a 
great effort of memory, and generally an unsuccessful 
one, to recollect the relative extent and situation of pla¬ 
ces, the numerous physical and political divisions of the 
earth, from the book. The advantages of studying geog¬ 
raphy with maps, globes, &c., are two. (1.) The form, 
relative situation, and extent of countries become, in this 
case, ideas, or, rather, conceptions of sight; such con¬ 
ceptions (§60) are very vivid, and are more easily called 
to remembrance than others. 

(2.) Our remembrances are assisted by the law of con¬ 
tiguity in place, (§ 145,) which is known to be one of 
the most efficient aids. When we have once, from hav¬ 
ing a map or globe before us, formed an acquaintance 
with the general visible appearance of an island, a gulf, 
an ocean, or a continent, nothing is more easy than to re¬ 
member the subordinate divisions or parts. Whenever 
we have examined, and fixed in our minds the general 
appearance or outlines of a particular country, we do not 
easily forget the situation of those countries which are 
contiguous. 

We find another illustration of this rule in the reading 
of history.—There is such a multitude of facts in histori¬ 
cal writings, that to endeavour to remember them all is 
fruitless; and, if it could be done, would be of very 
small advantage. Hence, in reading the history of any 
country, fix upon two or three of the most interesting 
epochs; make them the subject of particular attention! 
learn the spirit of the age, and the private life and for¬ 
tunes of prominent individuals; in a word, study these 
periods not only as annalists, but as philosophers When 
they are thus studied, the mind can hardly fail to retain 
them; they will be a sort of landmarks; and all the oth¬ 
er events in the history of the country, before and after¬ 
ward, will naturally arrange themselves in reference to 
them. The memory will strongly seize the prominent 


memory. 


179 

periods, in consequence of the great interest felt in them; 
and the less important parts of the history of the country 
will be likely to be retained, so far as is necessary, by the 
aid of the principle of contiguity, and without giving 
them great attention.—Further, historical charts or genea¬ 
logical trees of history are of some assistance, for a sim¬ 
ilar reason that maps, globes, &c., are in geography. 

This rule for strengthening the memory wall apply also 
to the more abstract sciences.—“ In every science,” says 
Stewart, (Elements, ch. vi., § 3,) “ the ideas, about which 
it is peculiarly conversant, are connected together by some 
associating principle; in one science, for instance, by as¬ 
sociations founded on the relation of cause and effect; in 
another, by the associations founded on the necessary re¬ 
lations of mathematical truths.” 

§ 165. Further directions for the improvement of the memory. 

(IV.) The order in which things are laid up in the 
memory should be the order of nature. —In nature eve¬ 
rything has its appropriate place, connexions, and rela¬ 
tions. Nothing is insulated, and wholly cut off, as it were, 
from everything else; but whatever exists or takes place 
falls naturally into its allotted position within the great 
sphere of creation and events. Hence the rule, that 
knowledge, as far forth as possible, should exist mentally 
or subjectively in the same order as the corresponding ob¬ 
jective reality exists. The laws of the mind will be 
found in their operation to act in harmony with the laws 
of external nature. They are, in some sense, the counter¬ 
parts of each other. We might illustrate the benefits of 
the application of this rule by referring to almost any 
well-digested scientific article, historical narration, poem, 
&c. But perhaps its full import will be more readily un¬ 
derstood by an instance of its utter violation. 

A person was one day boasting, in the presence of 
Foote, the comedian, of the wonderful facility with which 
he could commit anything to memory, when the modem 
Aristophanes said he would write down a dozen lines 
in prose which he could not commit to memory in as 
many minutes. The man of great memory accepted the 
challenge; a wager was laid, and Foote produced the 


I 





180 


MEMORY. 


following.—“ So she went into the garden, to cut a cab- t 
bage-leaf to make an apple-pie ; and at the same time a t 
great she-bear coming up the street, pops its head into i 
the shop. What, no soap ? So he died, and she very i 
imprudently married the barber; and there were present 1 
the Piciniunies, and the Joblillies, and the Garyulies, and ( 
the grand Panjandrum himself, with the little round but- , 
ton at the top; and they all fell to playing catch as catch < 
can, till the gunpowder ran out of the heels of their 
boots.”—The story adds that Foote won the wager. And ; 
it is very evident that statements of this description, ut- 1 
terly disregarding the order of nature and events, must ; 
defy, if carried to any great length, the strongest memory, j 

(V.) The memory may be strengthened by exercise .— 
Our minds, when left to sloth and inactivity, lose their vig¬ 
our ; but when they are kept in exercise, and, after per¬ 
forming what was before them, are tasked with new re- ! 
quisitions, it is not easy to assign limits to their ability. 
This seems to be a general and ultimate law of our na¬ 
ture. It is applicable equally to every original suscepti¬ 
bility, and to every combination of mental action. In re¬ 
peated instances we have had occasion to refer to its | 
results, both on the body and the mind. The power of 
perception is found to acquire strength and acuteness by 
exercise. There are habits of conception and of associa¬ 
tion as well as of perception ; and we shall be able to 
detect the existence and operation of the same great 
principle, when we come to speak of reasoning, im¬ 
agination, &c. As this principle applies equally to the 
memory, we are able to secure its beneficial results by 
practising that repetition or exercise on which they are 
founded. 

§ 166. Of observance of the truth in connexion with memory. 

Another help to the memory, which has seldom been 
noticed, and certainly not so much as its importance de¬ 
mands, is the conscientious and strict observance of the 
truth.—It will be found, on inquiry, that those who are 
scrupulous in this respect will be more prompt and exact 
in their recollections, within the sphere of what they un¬ 
dertake to remember, than others. A man of this descrip- 





DURATION OF MEMORY. 181 

tion may possibly not remember so much as others; for 
the same conscientiousness, which is the basis of his ve¬ 
racity, would instinctively teach him to reject from his 
intellectual storehouse a great deal of worthless trash. 
But within the limits which, for good reasons, undoubt¬ 
edly, he sets to his recollections, he will be much more 
exact, much more to be relied on, provided there is no 
original or constitutional ground of difference. It has 
been suggested in regard to Dr. Johnson, that his rigid 
attention to veracity, his conscientious determination to 
be exact in his statements, was the reason, in a consider¬ 
able degree, that his memory was so remarkably tenacious 
and minute. And the suggestion is based in sound phi¬ 
losophy. If a man’s deep and conscientious regard for 
the truth be such that he cannot, consistently with the 
requisitions of his moral nature, repeat to others mere 
vaguenesses and uncertainties, he will naturally give such 
strict and serious attention to the present objects of inquiry 
and knowledge, that they will remain in his memory after¬ 
ward with remarkable distinctness and permanency. 


CHAPTER VIH. 

DURATION OF MEMORY. 

$ 167. Restoration of thoughts and feelings supposed to be forgotten. 

Before quitting the subject of Memory, there is another 
point of view not wholly wanting in interest, in which it 
is susceptible of being considered; and that is the per¬ 
manency or duration of its power to call up its past ex¬ 
periences. It is said to have been an opinion of Lord 
Bacon, that no thoughts are lost; that they continue vir¬ 
tually to exist; and that the soul possesses within itself 
laws which, whenever fully brought into action, will be 
found capable of producing the prompt and perfect resto¬ 
ration of the collected acts and feelings of its whole past 
existence. 

This opinion, which other able writers have fallen in 
with, is clearly worthy of examination, especially when 

Q 




182 


DURATION OF MEMORY. 


we consider that it has a practical hearing, and involves 
important moral and religious consequences. Some one 
will perhaps inquire, Is it possible, is it in the nature of 
things, that we should be able to recall the millions of 
little acts and feelings which have transpired in the whole 
course of our lives 1 Let such an inquirer be induced to 
consider, in the first place, that the memory has its fixed 
laws, in virtue of which the mental exercises are recalled; 
and that there can be found no direct and satisfactory- 
proof of such laws ever wholly ceasing to exist. That i 
the operation of those laws appears to be weakened, and 
is in fact weakened, by lapse of time, is admitted; but | 
while the frequency, promptness, and strength of their 
action may be diminished in any assignable degree, the j 
laws themselves yet remain. This is the view of the sub¬ 
ject which at first obviously and plainly presents itself; ! 
and, we may venture to add, is recommended by common | 
experience. 

It is known to every one, that thoughts and feelings j 
sometimes unexpectedly recur which had slumbered m 
forgetfulness for years. Days, and months, and years 
have rolled on; new scenes and situations occupy us; 
and all we felt, and saw, and experienced in those former 
days and years, appears to be clothed in impenetrable 
darkness. But suddenly some unexpected event, the 
sight of a waterfall, of a forest, of a house, a peculiarly 
pleasant or gloomy day, a mere change of countenance, 
a word, almost anything we can imagine, arouses the 
soul, and gives a new and vigorous turn to its meditations. 

At such a moment we are astonished at the novel revela¬ 
tions which are made, the recollections which are called 
forth, the resurrections of withered hopes and perished 
sorrows, of scenes and companionships that seemed to be 
utterly lost. 

“ Bulled in the countless chambers of the brain, 

Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain. 

Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise ! 

Each stamps its image as the other flies.” 

This is, perhaps, a faint exhibition of that perfect resto¬ 
ration of thought which Bacon and other philosophic minds 
have supposed to be possible. But if the statement be 



DURATION OF MEMORY. 


183 


correct, it is undoubtedly one circumstance among others 
in support of that sentiment, although of subordinate 
weight. 

§ 168. Mental action quickened by influence on the physical system. 

The ability of the mind to restore its past experiences, 
depends, in some degree, on the state of the physical sys¬ 
tem. It is well known that there is a connexion existing 
between the mind and the body, and that a reciprocal 
influence is exercised. It is undoubtedly true, that the 
mental action is ordinarily increased or diminished, ac¬ 
cording as the body is more or less affected. And may 
not the exercise of the laws of memory be quickened, as 
well as the action of other powers 1 While it is admitted 
! that an influence on the body exerts an influence on the 
mind, may it not be true that this general influence some¬ 
times takes the particular shape of exciting the recollec¬ 
tion, and of restoring long-past events 1 

There are various facts having a bearing on this inqui¬ 
ry, and which seem to show that such suggestions are not 
wholly destitute of foundation.—It appears, for instance, 
from the statements of persons who h;ve been on the 
point of drowning, but have been rescued from that situ¬ 
ation, that the operations of their minds were peculiarly 
quickened. In this wonderful activity of the mental prin¬ 
ciple, the whole past life, with its thousand minute inci¬ 
dents, has almost simultaneously passed before them, and 
been viewed as in a mirror. Scenes and situations long- 
gone by, and associates not seen for years, and perhaps 
buried and dissolved in the grave, came rushing in upon 
the field of intellectual vision in all the activity and dis¬ 
tinctness of real existence. 

If such be the general experience in cases of this kind, 
it confirms a number of important views; placing beyond 
doubt that there is a connexion between the mind and 
body; that the mental operation is susceptible of being 
quickened; and that such increase of action may be at¬ 
tributable, in part at least, to an influence on the body. 
The proximate cause of the great acceleration of the in¬ 
tellectual acts, in cases of drowning, appears to be (as 
will be found to be the fact in many other similar cases) 




184 


DURATION OF MEMORY. 


an affection of the brain. That is to say; in consequence 
of the suspension of respiration, the blood is prevented 
from readily circulating through the lungs, and hence 
becomes accumulated in the brain. It would seem that 
the blood is never thrown into the brain in unusual quan¬ 
tities without being attended with unusual mental affec¬ 
tions. 

$ 169. Other instances of quickened mental action, and of a restoration 
of thoughts. 

The doctrine which has been proposed, that the mental 
action may be quickened, and that there may be a resto¬ 
ration or remembrance of all former thoughts and feel¬ 
ings, is undoubtedly to be received or rejected in view of 
facts. The only question in this case, as in others, is, 
"What is truth ? And how are we to arrive at the truth 1 

If the facts which have been referred to be not enough 
to enable one to form an opinion, there are others of a 
like tendency, and in a less uncertain form. A powerful 
disease, wdiile at some times it prostrates the mind, at 
others imparts to it a more intense action. The follow¬ 
ing passage from a recent work (although the cause of 
the mental excitement, in the instance mentioned in it, is 
not stated) may properly be appealed to in this connex¬ 
ion.-—“ Past feelings, even should they be those of our 
earliest moments of infancy, never cease to be under the 
influence of the law of association, and they are constant¬ 
ly liable to be renovated, even to the latest period of life, 
although they may be in so faint a state as not to be the 
object of consciousness. 

“ It is evident, then, that a cause of mental excitement 
may so act upon a sequence of extremely faint feelino-s, 
as to render ideas, of w^hich the mind had long been pre¬ 
viously unconscious, vivid objects of consciousness. Thus 
it is recorded of a female in France, that while she was 
subjected to such an influence, the memory of the Armor- 
ican language, which she had lost since she was a child, 
suddenly returned.”* 

$ 170. Effect on the memory of a severe attack of fever. 

We may add here the following account of the mental 
* Hibbert’s Philosophy of Apparitions, part iv., chapter v. 


DURATION OF MEMORY. 


185 


affections of an intelligent American traveller. He was 
' travelling in the State of Illinois, and suffered the com¬ 
mon lot of visitants from other climates, in being taken 
down with a bilious fever.—“ As very few live,” he re¬ 
marks, “ to record the issue of a sickness like mine, and 
as you have requested me, and as I have promised to be 
particular, I will relate some of the circumstances of this 
disease. And it is in my view desirable, in the bitter ag¬ 
ony of such diseases, that more of the symptoms, sensa¬ 
tions, and sufferings should be recorded than have been; 
and that others in similar predicaments may know that 
some before them have had sufferings like theirs* and have 
survived them. 

“ I had had a fever before, and had risen and been dress¬ 
ed every day. But in this, with the first day, I was pros¬ 
trated to infantile weakness, and felt with its first attack 
that it was a thing very different from what I had yet 
experienced. Paroxysms of derangement occurred the 
third day, and this was to me a new state of mind. That 
state of disease in which partial derangement is mixed 
with a consciousness generally sound, and a sensibility 
preternaturally excited, I should suppose the most dis¬ 
tressing of all its forms. At the same time that I was 
unable to recognise my friends, I was informed that my 
memory was more than ordinarily exact and retentive, 
and that I repeated whole passages in the different lan¬ 
guages , which I knew with entire accuracy. 1 recited, 
without losing or misplacing a word , a passage of poetry, 
which I could not so repeat after I had recovered my 
health,” &c* 

$ 171. Approval and illustrations of these views from Coleridge. 

An opinion favourable to the doctrine of the durabili¬ 
ty of memory, and the ultimate restoration of thought 
and feeling, is expressed in the Biographia Literaria of 
Coleridge, in an article on the Laws of association. In 
confirmation of it, the writer introduces a statement of 
certain facts which became known to him in a tour in 
Germany in 1798, to the following effect. 

In a Catholic town of Germany, a young woman ot 

* Flint’s Recollections of the Valley of the Mississippi, letter xiv. 




186 


DURATION OF MEMORY. 


four or five-and-twenty, who could neither read nor write, 
was seized with a nervous fever, during which she was 
incessantly talking Greek, Latin, and Hebrew, with much 
pomp and distinctness of enunciation. The case attract¬ 
ed much attention, and many sentences which she utter¬ 
ed, being taken down by some learned persons present, 
were found to be coherent and intelligible, each for itself, 
but with little or no connexion with each other. Of the 
Hebrew only a small portion could be traced to the Bible; 
the remainder was that form of Hebrew which is usually 
called Rabbinic. Ignorant, and simple, and harmless, as 
this young woman was known to be, no one suspected 
any deception; and no explanation could for a long time 
be given, although inquiries were made for that purpose 
in different families where she had resided as a servant. 

Through the zeal, however, and philosophical spirit of 
a young physician, all the necessary information was in the 
end obtained. The woman was of poor parents, and at 
nine years of age had been kindly taken to be brought 
up by an old Protestant minister, who lived at some dis¬ 
tance. He was a very learned man; being not only a 
great Hebraist, but acquainted also with Rabbinical wri¬ 
tings, the Greek and Latin Fathers, &c. The passages 
which had been taken down in the delirious ravings of 
the yoimg woman, were found by the physician precise¬ 
ly to agree with passages in some books in those lan¬ 
guages which had formerly belonged to him. But these 
facts were not a full explanation of the case. It appear¬ 
ed, on further inquiry, that the patriarchal Protestant had 
been in the habit for many years of walking up and down 
a passage of his house, into which the kitchen door open¬ 
ed, and to read to himself with a loud voice out of his fa¬ 
vourite books. This attracted the notice of the poor and 
ignorant domestic whom he had taken into his family; 
the passages made an impression on her memory; and al¬ 
though probably for a long time beyond the reach of her 
recollection when in health, they were at last vividly re¬ 
stored, and were uttered in the way above mentioned, in 
consequence of the feverish state of the physical system, 
particularly of the brain. 

From this instance, and from several others of the 


DURATION OF MEMORY. 


187 


same kind, which Mr. Coleridge asserts can be brought 
up, he is inclined to educe the following positions or in¬ 
ferences.—(1.) Our thoughts may, for an indefinite time, 
exist in the same order in which they existed originally, 
and in a latent or imperceptible state.—(2.) As a fever¬ 
ish state of the brain (and, of course, any other peculiari¬ 
ty in the bodily condition) cannot create thought itself, 
nor make any approximation to it, but can only operate 
as ari excitement or quickener to the intellectual princi¬ 
ple, it is therefore probable, that all thoughts are, in 
themselves, imperishable.—(3.) In order greatly to in¬ 
crease the power of the intellect, he supposes it would 
require only a different organization of its material ac¬ 
companiment.—(4.) And, therefore, he concludes the 
book of final judgment, which the Scriptures inform us 
will at the last day be presented before the individuals of 
the human race, may be no other than the investment of 
the soul with a celestial instead of a terrestrial body ; and 
that this may be sufficient to restore the perfect record of 
the multitude of its past experiences. He supposes it 
may be altogether consistent with the nature of a living 
spirit, that heaven and earth should sooner pass away, 
than that a single act or thought should be loosened and 
effectually struck off from the great chain of its opera¬ 
tions.—In giving these conclusions, the exact language of 
the writer has not been followed, but the statement made 
will be found to give what clearly seems to have been 
his meaning. 

4 172. Application of the principles of this chapter to education. 

Whether the considerations which have been brought 
forward lead satisfactorily to the conclusion of the dura¬ 
tion of memory, and of the possible restoration of all 
mental exercises, must of course be submitted to each 
one’s private judgment. But on the supposition that they 
do, it must occur to every one, that certain practical 
applications closely connect themselves with this subject. 
—The principle in question has, among other things, a 
bearing on the education of the young; furnishing a new 
reason for the utmost circumspection in conducting it. 
The term education, in its application to the human mind. 


188 


DURATION OF MEMORY. 


is very extensive; it includes the example and advice of 
parents, and the influence of associates, as well as more 
direct and formal instruction. Now if the doctrine under 
consideration be true, it follows that a single remark of a 
profligate and injurious tendency, made by a parent or 
some other person in the presence of a child, though for¬ 
gotten and neglected at the time, may be suddenly and 
vividly recalled some twenty, thirty, or even forty years 
after. It may be restored to the mind by a multitude of 
unforeseen circumstances, and even those of the most tri¬ 
fling kind; and even at the late period when the voice 
that uttered it is silent in the grave, may exert a most 
pernicious influence. It may lead to unkindness ; it may 
be seized and cherished as a justification of secret moral 
and religious delinquencies ; it may prompt to a violation 
of public laws; and in a multitude of ways conduct to 
sin, to ignominy, and wretchedness. Great care, there¬ 
fore, ought to be taken, not to utter unadvised, false, and 
evil sentiments in the hearing of the young, in the vain 
expectation that they will do no hurt, because they wall 
be speedily and irrecoverably lost. 

And, for the same reason, great care and pains should 
be taken to introduce truth into the mind, and all correct 
moral and religious principles. Suitably impress on the 
mind of a child the existence of a God, and his parental 
authority ; teach the pure and benevolent outlines of the 
Redeemer’s character, and the great truths and hopes of 
the Gospel; and these instructions form essential links in 
the grand chain of memory, which no change of circum¬ 
stances, nor lapse of time, nor combination of power, can 
ever wholly strike out. They have their place assigned 
them; and though they may be concealed, they cannot 
he obliterated. They may perhaps cease to exercise their 
appropriate influence, and not be recalled for years; the 
pressure of the business and of the cares of life may have 
driven them out from every prominent position, and bu¬ 
ried them for a time. But the period of their resurrec¬ 
tion is always at hand, although it may not be possible 
for the limited knowledge of man to detect the signs of 
it. Perhaps, in the hour of temptation to crime, they 
come forth like forms and voices from the dead, and with 


DURATION OF MEMORY. 


189 


more than their original freshness and power; perhaps, in 
the hour of misfortune, in the prison-house, or in the land 
of banishment, they pay their visitations, and impart a 
consolation which nothing else could have supplied; they 
come with the angel tones of parental reproof and love, 
and preserve the purity and check the despondency of 
the soul. 

§ 173. Connexion of this doctrine with the final judgment and a future life. 

There remains one remark more, of a practical nature, 
to be made.—The views which have been proposed in 
respect to the ultimate restoration of all mental experien¬ 
ces, may be regarded as in accordance with the Divine 
Word. It may be safely affirmed, that no mental princi¬ 
ple which, on a fair interpretation, is laid down in that 
sacred book, will be found to be at variance with the 
common experience of mankind. The doctrine of the 
Bible, in respect to a future judgment, may well be sup¬ 
posed to involve considerations relative to man’s intellect¬ 
ual and moral condition. In various passages they ex¬ 
plicitly teach that the Saviour in the last day shall judge 
the world, and that all shall be judged according to the 
deeds done in the body, whether they be good or wheth¬ 
er they be evil. But an objection has sometimes been 
raised of this sort, that we can never feel the justice of 
that decision without a knowledge of our whole past life 
on which it is founded, and that this is impossible. It 
was probably this objection that Mr. Coleridge had in 
view, when he proposed the opinion, that the clothing of 
the soul with a celestial instead of a terrestrial body, 
would be sufficient to restore the perfect record of its 
past experiences. 

In reference to this objection to the scriptural doctrine 
of a final judgment, the remark naturally presents itself, 
that it seems to derive its plausibility chiefly from an im¬ 
perfect view of the constitution of the human mind. It 
is thought that we cannot be conscious of our whole past 
life, because it is utterly forgotten, and is, therefore, whol¬ 
ly irrecoverable. But the truth seems to be, that nothing 
is wholly forgotten; the probability that we shall be able 
to recall our past thoughts may be greatly diminished. 


190 


REASONING. 


but it does not become wholly extinct. The power of 
reminiscence slumbers, but does not die. At the Judg¬ 
ment-day, we are entirely at liberty to suppose, from what 
we know of the mind, that it will aw T ake, that it will 
summon up thought and feeling from its hidden recesses, 
and will clearly present before us the perfect form and 
representation of the past. 

“ Each fainter trace that memory holds 
So darkly of departed years, 

In one broad glance the soul beholds, 

And all that was, at once appears.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

REASONING. 

§ 174. Reasoning a source of ideas and knowledge. 

Leaving the consideration of the memory, we are next 
to examine the power of Reasoning; a subject-of inquiry 
abundantly interesting in itself, and also in consequence 
of its being one of the leading and fruiful sources of In¬ 
ternal knowledge. For our knowledge of the opera¬ 
tions of this faculty, we are indebted, as was seen in a 
former chapter, to Consciousness, which gives us our di¬ 
rect knowledge of all other mental acts. But it will be 
remarked, that Reasoning is not identical with, or involv¬ 
ed in, Consciousness. If consciousness give us a knowl¬ 
edge of the act of reasoning, the reasoning power, opera- 
ting within its own limits and in its own right, gives us a 
knowledge of other things. It is a source of perceptions 
and knowledge which we probably could not possess in 
any other way. 

Without the aid of Original Suggestion, it does not ap¬ 
pear how we could have a knowledge of our existence; 
without Consciousness, we should not have a knowledge 
of our mental operations; without Relative Suggestion 
or Judgment, which is also a distinct source of knowl¬ 
edge, there would be no Reasoning; and, unassisted by 
Reasoning, we could have no knowledge of the relations 



REASONING. 


19 


of those things which cannot be compared without the 
aid of intermediate propositions. The reasoning power, 
therefore, is to be regarded as a new and distinct fountain 
of thought, which, as compared with the other sources of 
knowledge just mentioned, opens itself still further in the 
recesses of the Internal Intellect; and as it is later in 
its developement, so it comes forth with proportionally 
greater efficiency. Accordingly, Degerando, in his trea¬ 
tise entitled Be la Generation des Connoissances, expressly 
and very justly remarks, after having spoken of judgment 
or Relative Suggestion as a distinct source of knowledge; 
“ The Reasoning faculty also serves to enrich us with 
ideas; for there are many relations so complicated or re¬ 
mote, that one act of judgment is not sufficient to discov¬ 
er them. A series of judgments or process of reasoning 
is therefore necessary.”—But we would not be understood 
to limit the results of reasoning, considered as a distinct 
source of knowledge, to a few simple conceptions, such as 
the discovery, in a given case, of the mere relation of 
agreement or disagreement. It sustains the higher office 
of bringing to light the great principles and hidden truths 
of nature; it reveals to the inquisitive and delighted mind 
a multitude of fruitful and comprehensive views, which 
could not otherwise be obtained; and invests men, and 
nature, and events with a new character. 

$ 175. Definition of reasoning, and of propositions. 

Reasoning may be defined the mental process or oper¬ 
ation whereby we deduce conclusions from two or more 
propositions premised.—A train of reasoning may be re¬ 
garded, therefore, as a whole ; and, as such, it is made up 
of separate and subordinate parts. These elementary 
parts are usually termed propositions ; and before we can 
proceed with advantage in the further consideration of 
reasoning, it is necessary to go into a brief explanation 
of them. 

A proposition has been defined to be a verbal repre¬ 
sentation of some perception, act, or affection of the mind. 
—Accordingly, when we speak of a Proposition, we are 
usually understood to mean some mental perception or 
combination of perceptions, expressed and laid out before 


192 


REASONING. 


us in words. Although such seems to be the ordinary 
meaning of the term, we may admit the possibility of prop¬ 
ositions existing wholly in the mind, without being ex¬ 
pressed in words. Mr. Locke expressly speaks of mental 
propositions, or those states of mind where two or more 
ideas are combined together previous to their being im- 
bodied and set forth in the forms of language. 

The parts of the proposition are, (1.) The subject, or 
that concerning which something is either asserted or de¬ 
nied, commanded or inquired. (2.) The predicate, or 
that which is asserted, denied, commanded, or inquired 
concerning the subject. (3.) The copula, by which the 
two other parts are connected.—In these two propositions, 
Caesar was brave, 

Men are fallible, 

Men and Ccesar are the subjects; fallible and brave are 
the predicates; are and was are the copulas. 

Propositions have been divided, (1.) Into simple, or 
those whose subject and predicate are composed of single 
words, as in this : 

Benevolence is commendable. 

(2.) Into complex, or those where the subject and 
predicate consist of a number of words, as in this : 

Faithfulness in religion is followed by peace of mind. 

(3.) Into modal, where the copula is qualified by some 
word or words, representing the manner or possibility of 
the agreement or discrepancy between the subject and 
predicate, as in these: 

Men of learning can exert an influence; 

Wars may sometimes be just. 

Propositions, more or less involved, are necessary parts 
in every process of reasoning. They may be compared 
to the separate and disjointed blocks of marble which are 
destined to enter into the formation of some edifice; the 
completed process of reasoning is the edifice, the propo¬ 
sitions are the materials. 

$ 176. Process of the mind in all cases of reasoning. 

Leaving the consideration of its subordinate parts or 
elements, we are further to consider the general nature 
of reasoning; in other words, we are to examine the 


REASONING. 


193 


character of the complex mental process involved in that 
term. The definition given of reasoning, it will be re¬ 
membered, was, that it is the mental process by which 
we deduce conclusions from two or more propositions 
premised. Hence there will be in every such process a 
succession of propositions, never less than two, and often 
a much greater number. The propositions often follow’ 
each other with much regularity; and hence not unfre- 
quently w r e consider the arrangement of them as entirely 
arbitrary. This is a mistaken supposition. It is true, 
when a number of ideas or propositions are presented 
nearly at the same time, the mind puts forth a volition, 
or exercises choice, in selecting one idea or proposition in 
preference to another. But the ideas or propositions from 
which the choice is made, and without the presence of 
which it could not be made, are not brought into exist¬ 
ence by a direct volition, and, therefore, mere arbitrary 
creations; but are suggested by the laws of association. 

$ 177. Illustration of the preceding statement. 

As an illustration of what has been said, we will sup¬ 
pose an argument on the justice and expediency of capi¬ 
tal punishments in ordinary cases. The disputant first 
denies, in general terms, the right which social combina¬ 
tions have assumed of capitally punishing offences of a 
slight nature. But, before considering the cases he has 
particularly in View, he remarks on the right of capital 
punishment for murder; he admits, we will suppose, that 
the principle of self-defence gives such a right. He then 
takes up the case of stealing, and contends that*we have 
no right to punish the thief with death, because no such 
right°is given by the laws of nature; for, before the for¬ 
mation of the civil compact, the institution of property, as 
a matter of civil and judicial regulation, was not known. 
He then considers the nature of civil society, and con¬ 
tends that, in the formation of the social compact, no 
such extraordinary power as that of putting to death for 
stealing, or other crimes of similar aggravation, could 
have been implied in that compact, because it never was 
possessed by those who formed it, &c. 

Here is an argument, made up of a number of propo- 



194 


REASONING. 


sitions, and carried on, as may be supposed, to a very 
considerable length. And in this argument, as in all 
others, every proposition is, in the first instance, suggest¬ 
ed by the laws of association; it is not at all a matter of 
arbitrary volition. The disputant first states the inquiry 
in general terms; he then considers the particular case 
of murder; the crime of theft is next considered; and 
this is examined, first, in reference to natural law, and 
afterward in reference to civil law.—And this consecu¬ 
tion of propositions takes place in essentially the same 
way as when the sight of a stranger in the crowd suggests 
the image of an old friend, and the friend suggests the 
village of his residence, and the village suggests an an¬ 
cient ruin in its neighbourhood, and the ruin suggests 
warriors and battles of other days.—It is true that other 
propositions may have been suggested at the same time, 
and the disputant may have had his choice between them, 
but this was all the direct voluntary power which he pos¬ 
sessed. 

§ 178. Grounds of the selection of propositions. 

A number of propositions are presented to the mind by 
the principles of association; the person who carries on 
the process of reasoning makes his selection among them. 
But it is reasonable to inquire, How it happens that there 
is such a suitableness or agreement in the propositions, as 
they are successively adopted into the train of reasoning? 
And this seems to be no other than to inquire into the cir¬ 
cumstances under which the choice of them is made, or 
the grounds of the selection. 

Let it be considered, then, that in all arguments, wheth¬ 
er moral or demonstrative, there is some general subject 
on which the evidence is made to bear; there is some 
point in particular to be examined. In reference to these 
general outlines we have a prevailing and permanent 
desire. This desire is not only a great help in giving 
quickness and strength to the laws of association, but 
exercises also a very considerable indirect influence in 
giving an appropriate character to the thoughts which 
are suggested by those laws Hence the great body of 
the propositions which are at such times brought up, will 


REASONING. 


195 

he found to have a greater or less reference to the gen¬ 
eral subject. These are all very rapidly compared by the 
mind with those outlines in regard to which its feelings 
of desire are exercised , or with what we usually term the 
point to be proved .—Here the mind, in the exercise of 
that susceptibility of feelings of relation which we have 
already seen it to possess, immediately discovers the suit¬ 
ableness or want of suitableness, the agreement or want 
of agreement, of the propositions presented to it, to the 
general subject. This perception of agreement or disa¬ 
greement, which is one of those relative feelings of which 
the mind is, from its very nature, held to be susceptible, 
exists as an ultimate fact in our mental constitution. All 
that can profitably be said in relation to it, is the mere 
statement of the fact, and of the circumstances under 
which it is found to exist.—Those propositions which are 
judged by the mind, in the exercise of that capacity which 
its Creator has given it, to possess a congruity or agree¬ 
ment with the general subject or point to be proved, are 
permitted by it to enter in, as continuous parts of the ar¬ 
gument. And in this way a series of propositions rises 
up, all having reference to one ultimate purpose, regular, 
appropriate, and in their issue laying .the foundation of 
the different degrees of assent.—This explanation will 
apply not only to the supposed argument in the last sec¬ 
tion, which is an instance of moral reasoning, but will 
hold good essentially of all other instances, of whatever 
kind. The difference in the various kinds of reasoning 
consists less in the mental process than in the nature of 
the subjects compared together, and in the conditions at¬ 
tending them. 

4 179. Reasoning implies the existence of antecedent or assumed 
propositions. 

In attempting to give some explanation of the reason¬ 
ing power, it is to be remarked further, that reasoning, 
both in its inception and its prosecution, has this charac¬ 
teristic, that it necessarily proceeds, in a great degree, 
upon assumptions. As every deductive process implies a 
comparison of propositions, there must, of course, be some 
propositions given, by the aid of which the comparison is 


1S6 


REASONING. 


prosecuted. There must be something assumed as known, 
by means of which to find out what is unknown. Accord¬ 
ingly, assumed propositions (either those which are known 
to be true, or, for the purposes of argument, are regarded 
as such) are always found at the commencement of the 
series; and they are also introduced frequently in its 
progress, particularly in Moral reasoning. But the prop¬ 
ositions which are assumed are not always expressed; 
especially those which, from the circumstance of their 
being representative of elementary convictions of the un¬ 
derstanding, are denominated primary truths. 

“ In every process of reasoning,” says Abercrombie, 
“ we proceed by founding one step upon another which 
has gone before it; and when we trace such a process 
backward, we must arrive at certain truths which are rec¬ 
ognised as fundamental, requiring no proof and admit¬ 
ting of none.” 

§ 180. Further considerations on this subject. 

But when we say that reasoning proceeds upon as¬ 
sumptions, it does not necessarily follow that it pro¬ 
ceeds upon propositions which are unknown or doubtful. 
The propositions which are referred to, are assmned in 
reference to the reasoning power, and not in reference 
to other sources of knowledge which the understanding 
possesses besides reasoning. Whatever things are known 
by Original Suggestion, whatever are known by Con¬ 
sciousness, or by the direct communication of the Senses, 
or by undoubted Memory or Testimony, as they cannot 
be made clearer by reasoning, but fully command our be¬ 
lief of themselves, are at once adopted by reasoning into 
its own processes, and employed as helps in eliciting the 
remote and unperceived truths which it is in search of. 
But, as has been intimated, this adoption is not always a 
formal and acknowledged one, but often silently and by 
implication. No one would think of formally and repeat¬ 
edly enunciating, as he advances in an argument, the truth 
of his own existence or of his personal identity; and not 
much more would he think of enunciating that every effect 
has its cause, or that nature is uniform in her operations, or 
that a combination of means conspiring to a particular end 


REASONING. 


197 


indicates intelligence; truths which are so essential and 
familiar to the human intellect, that we daily base the 
most important conclusions upon them, while, at the same 
time, we scarcely think of their existence. 

^ 181. Of differences in the power of reasoning. 

The faculty of reasoning exists in different individuals 
in very different degrees. There is the same diversity 
here which is found to exist in respect to every other men¬ 
tal susceptibility and mental process. In some persons it 
is not even powerful enough to meet the ordinary exigen¬ 
cies of life, and hardly rescues its possessor from the 
imputation of idiocy; in others, it elevates human nature, 
and bestows extraordinary grasp and penetration. And 
between the extremes of extraordinary expansion and 
marked imbecility, there are multitudes of distinct grades, 
almost every possible variety. 

This difference depends on various causes.—(1.) It will 
depend, in the first place, on the amount of knowledge 
which the reasoner possesses. No man can permanently 
sustain the reputation of great ability in argument with¬ 
out having previously secured a large fund of knowledge as 
its basis. And we may add, that no man can reason well 
on any given subject, unless he has especially prepared 
himself in reference to that subject. All reasoning im¬ 
plies a comparison of ideas ; or, more properly, a compar¬ 
ison of propositions, or of facts stated in propositions. 
Of course, where there is no knowledge on any given 
subject, where there is no accumulation of facts, there can 
be no possibility of reasoning; and where the knowledge 
is much limited, the plausibility and power of the argu¬ 
ment will be proportionally diminished. 

That many persons speak on subjects which are propo¬ 
sed to them without having made any preparation, can¬ 
not be denied; but there is a vast difference between 
noisy, incoherent declamation and a well-wrought argu¬ 
ment, made up of suitable propositions, following each 
other with a direct and satisfactory reference to the con¬ 
clusion. In every case of reasoning, the mind passes suc¬ 
cessively along the various topics involved in the argu¬ 
ment ; and, in so doing, is governed by the principles of 



198 


REASONING. 


association, as we have already had occasion to notice. 
But what opportunity can there possibly be for the oper¬ 
ation of these principles, when the mind is called to fasten 
itself upon a subject, and to decide upon that subject, 
without any knowledge of those circumstances which 
may be directly embraced in it, or of its relations and 
tendencies ? 

(2.) The power of reasoning will depend, in the sec¬ 
ond place, on the power of attention and memory. There 
are some persons who seem to have no command of the 
attention. Everything interests them slightly, and no¬ 
thing in a high degree. They are animated by no strong 
feeling ; and enter into no subject requiring long-continu¬ 
ed and abstract investigation with a suitable intensity of 
ardour. A defective remembrance of the numerous facts 
and propositions which come under review is the natural 
consequence of this. And this necessarily implies a per¬ 
plexed and diminished power of ratiocination. 

(3.) A third ground of difference is diversity in the 
susceptibility of feeling relations. The remark has alrea¬ 
dy been made, (§ 138,) that facts may be accumulated 
having close and decisive relations to the points to be 
proved, but that they can never be so bound together as 
to result in any conclusion, without a perception or feeling 
of those relations. But it is well known, whatever it may 
be owing to, that the relations of objects are much more 
readily and clearly perceived by some than by others. 
As, therefore, every train of reasoning implies a succession 
or series of relative perceptions, a defect in the power of 
relative suggestion necessarily implies a defect in the 
reasoning power. And, on the other hand, a great 
quickness and clearness in the perception of relations is 
necessarily attended (other things being equal) with an 
augmented efficiency of reasoning. 

§ 182. Of habits of reasoning. 

But whatever may be the mental traits that render, in 
particular cases, the reasoning power more or less effi¬ 
cient, its efficacy will undoubtedly depend, in a great de¬ 
gree, on Habit.—The effect of frequent practice, resulting 
in what is termed a habit, is often witnessed in those who 


REASONING. 


199 


I follow any mechanic calling, where we find that what 
was once done with difficulty comes in time to be done 
■ with great ease and readiness. The muscles of such per¬ 
sons seem to move with a kind of instinctive facility and 
accuracy in the performance of those works to which they 
I have been for a long time addicted. 

There is a similar effect of frequent practice in the in¬ 
crease of quickness and facility in our mental operations ; 
and certainly as much so in those which are implied in 
reasoning as in any others. If, for instance, a person has 
never been in the habit of going through geometrical 
demonstrations, he finds his mind very slowly and with dif¬ 
ficulty advancing from one step to another ; while, on the 
other hand, a person who has so often practised this spe¬ 
cies of argumentation as to have formed a habit, advan¬ 
ces forward from one part of the train of reasoning to 
another with great rapidity and delight. And the result 
is the same in any process of moral reasoning. In the 
prosecution of any argument of a moral nature, there is 
necessarily a mental perception of the congruity of its 
several parts, or of the agreement of the succeeding 
proposition with that which went before. The degree of 
readiness in bringing together propositions, and in putting 
forth such perceptions, will greatly depend on the degree 
of practice. 

$ 183. Of reasoning in connexion with language or expression. 

Language is the great instrument of reasoning. There 
may indeed be a deductive process which is purely men¬ 
tal ; but, in point of fact, this is seldom the case. In the 
use of language, it is worthy of notice, that there is often 
a want of correspondence between the purely mental pro¬ 
cess in reasoning and the outward verbal expression of it. 
When persons are called upon to state their arguments 
suddenly and in public debate, they often commit errors 
which are at variance with the prevalent opinion of their 
good sense and mental ability. This is particularly true 
of men who are chiefly engaged in the ordinary business 
of life, or are in any situation where there is a constant 
call for action. The conclusions at which such persons 
arrive may be supposed to be generally correct, but they 




200 


REASONING. 


frequently find themselves unable to state clearly and cor¬ 
rectly to others the process of reasoning by which they 
arrived at them.—Oliver Cromwell, the famous English 
Protector, is said to have been a person to whom this 
statement would well apply. The complicated incidents 
of his life, and the perplexities of his situation, and his 
great success, sufficiently evince that he possessed a clear 
insight into events, and was in no respect deficient in un¬ 
derstanding ; but when he attempted to express his opin¬ 
ions in the presence of others, and to explain himself on 
questions of policy, he was confused and obscure. His 
mind readily insinuated itself into the intricacies of a 
subject; and while he could assert with confidence that he 
had arrived at a satisfactory conclusion, he could not so 
readily describe either the direction he had taken, or the 
involutions of the journey.—“ All accounts,” says Mr. 
Hume, “ agree in ascribing to Cromwell a tiresome, dark, 
unintelligible elocution, even when he had no intention to 
disguise his meaning; yet no man’s actions were ever, in 
such a variety of difficult cases, more decisive and judi¬ 
cious.” 


$ 184. Illustration of the foregoing section. 

Such instances are not unfrequent. Mr. Stewart some¬ 
where mentions the case of an English officer, a friend of 
Lord Mansfield, who had been appointed to the govern¬ 
ment of Jamaica. The officer expressed some doubts of 
his competency to preside in the court of chancery. 
Mansfield assured him that he would not find the difficul¬ 
ty so great as he imagined.—“ Trust,” said he, “ to your 
own good sense in forming your opinions, but beware of 
stating the grounds of your judgments. The judgments 
will probably be right; the arguments will infallibly be 
wrong.” 

The perplexity, which is so often experienced by men 
engaged in active life, in giving a prompt and correct ver¬ 
bal expression to the internal trains of thought, is proba¬ 
bly owing in part to a want of practice of that kind, and 
in part to certain mental habits, which they have been 
led, from their situation, to form and strengthen. In a 
thousand emergencies they have been obliged to act with 


DEMONSTRATIVE REASONING. 


201 


quickness, and, at the same time, with caution; in other 
words, to examine subjects, and to do it with expedition. 
In this way they have acquired exceeding readiness in all 
their mental acts. The consequence of this is, that the 
numerous minute circumstances, involved more or less in 
all subjects of difficult inquiry, are passed in review with 
such rapidity, and are made in so very small a degree the 
objects of separate attention, that they vanish and are for¬ 
gotten. Hence these persons, although the conclusion to 
which they have come be satisfactory, are unable to state 
to others all the subordinate steps in the argument. 
Everything has once been distinctly and fairly before 
their own minds, although with that great rapidity which 
is always implied in a habit ; but their argument, as sta¬ 
ted in words, owing to their inability to arrest and imbody 
all the evanescent processes of thought, appears to others 
defective and confused. 


CHAPTER X., 

DEMONSTRATIVE REASONING. 

§ 185. Of the subjects of demonstrative reasoning. 

In the remarks which have hitherto been made, the 
subject of reasoning has been taken up in the most gen¬ 
eral point of view. The considerations that have been 
proposed are applicable, in the main, to reasoning in all 
its forms. But it is necessary, in order to possess a more 
full and satisfactory conception of this subject, to exam¬ 
ine it under the two prominent heads of Moral and De¬ 
monstrative. 

There are various particulars in which moral and de¬ 
monstrative reasoning differ from each other; the consid¬ 
eration of which will suggest more fully their distinctive 
nature. Among other things, demonstrative reasoning 
differs from any other species of reasoning in the subjects 
about which it is employed. The subjects are abstract 
ideas, and the necessary relations among them. Those 








202 


DEMONSTRATIVE REASONING. 


ideas or thoughts are called abstract which are represent¬ 
ative of such qualities and properties in, objects as can 
be distinctly examined by the mind separate from other 
qualities and properties with which they are commonly 
united. And there may be reckoned, as coming within 
this class of subjects, the properties of numbers and of geo¬ 
metrical figures; also extension, duration, weight, veloci¬ 
ty, forces, &c., so far as they are susceptible of being accu¬ 
rately expressed by numbers or other mathematical signs. 
But the subjects of moral reasoning, upon which we are 
to remark hereafter more particularly, are matters of fact, 
including their connexion with other facts, whether con¬ 
stant or variable, and all attendant circumstances.—That 
the exterior angle of a triangle is equal to both the inte¬ 
rior and opposite angles, is a truth which comes within 
the province of demonstration. That Homer was the au¬ 
thor of the Iliad, that Xerxes invaded Greece, &c., are 
inquiries belonging to moral reasoning. 

$ 186. Use of definitions and axioms in demonstrative reasoning. 

In every process of reasoning, there must be, at the 
commencement of it, something to be proved; there must 
also be some things, either known or taken for granted 
as such, with which the comparison of the propositions 
begins. The preliminary truths in demonstrative reason¬ 
ings are involved in such definitions as are found in all 
mathematical treatises. It is impossible to give a dem¬ 
onstration of the properties of a circle, parabola, ellipse, 
or other mathematical figure, without first having given a 
definition of them. Definitions, therefore, are the facts 
assumed, the first principles in demonstrative reasoning, 
from which, by means of the subsequent steps, the conclu¬ 
sion is derived.—We find something entirely similar in 
respect to subjects which admit of the application of a 
different form of reasoning. Thus, in Natural Philosophy, 
the general facts in relation to the gravity and elasticity 
of the air may be considered as first principles. From 
these principles in Physics are deduced, as consequences, 
the suspension of the mercury in the barometer, and its 
fall when carried up to an eminence. 

We must not forget here the use of axioms in the dem- 


DEMONSTRATIVE REASONING. 


203 


onstrations of mathematics. Axioms are certain self-ev¬ 
ident propositions, or propositions the truth of which is 
discovered by intuition, such as the following: “ Things 
equal to the same, are equal to one another“From 
equals take away equals, and equals remain.” We gen¬ 
erally find a number of them prefixed to treatises of ge¬ 
ometry, and other treatises involving geometrical princi¬ 
ples ; and it has been a mistaken supposition, wdiich has 
long prevailed, that they are at the foundation of geomet¬ 
rical and of all other demonstrative reasoning. But 
axioms, taken by themselves, lead to no conclusions. 
With their assistance alone, the truth, involved in proposi¬ 
tions susceptible of demonstration, would have been be¬ 
yond our reach. 

But axioms are by no means without their use, although 
their nature may have been misunderstood. They are 
properly and originally intuitive perceptions of the truth; 
and whether they be expressed in words, as we gen¬ 
erally find them, or not, is of but little consequence, ex¬ 
cept as a matter of convenience to beginners, and in giv¬ 
ing instruction. But those intuitive perceptions which 
are always implied in them are essential helps; and if 
by their aid alone we should be unable to complete a 
demonstration, we should be equally unable without them. 
We begin with definitions; we compare together suc¬ 
cessively a number of propositions; and these intuitive 
perceptions of their agreement or disagreement, to which, 
when expressed in words, we give the name of axioms, 
attend us at every step. 

6 187. The opposites of demonstrative reasonings absurd. 

In demonstrations we consider only one side of a ques¬ 
tion ; it is not necessary to do anything more than this. 
The first principles in the reasoning are given; they are 
not only supposed to be certain, but they are assumed as 
such; these are followed by a number of propositions in 
succession, all of which are compared together; if the 
conclusion be a demonstrative one, then there has been a 
clear perception of certainty at every step in the train. 
Whatever may be urged against an argument thus con¬ 
ducted is of no consequence * the opposite of it will al" 


204 


DEMONSTRATIVE REASONING. 


ways imply some fallacy. Thus, the proposition that the 
three angles of a triangle are not equal to two right 
angles, and other propositions, which are the opposite of 
what has been demonstrated, will always be found to be 
false, and also to involve an absurdity ; that is, are in¬ 
consistent with, and contradictory to, themselves. 

But it is not so in Moral Reasoning. And here, there¬ 
fore, we find a marked distinction between the two great 
forms of ratiocination. We may arrive at a conclusion 
on a moral subject with a great degree of certainty; not 
a doubt may be left in the mind; and yet the opposite 
of that conclusion may be altogether within the limits of 
possibility. We have, for instance, the most satisfactory 
evidence that the sun rose to-day, but the opposite might 
have been true, without any inconsistency or contradic¬ 
tion, viz., That the sun did not rise. Again, we have no 
doubt of the great law in physics, that heavy bodies de¬ 
scend to the earth in a line directed towards its centre. 
But we can conceive of the opposite of this without involv¬ 
ing any contradiction or absurdity. In other words, they 
might have been subjected, if the Creator had so deter¬ 
mined, to the influence of a la w requiring them to move in 
a different direction. But, on a thorough examination of 
a demonstrative process, we shall find ourselves unable to 
admit even the possibility of the opposite. 

$ 183. Demonstrations do not admit of different degrees of belief. 

When our thoughts are employed upon subjects which, 
come within the province of moral reasoning, we yield 
different degrees of assent; we form opinions more or less 
probable. Sometimes our belief is of the lowest kind • 
nothing more than mere presumption. New evidence 
gives it new strength; and it may go on, from one de¬ 
gree of strength to another, till all doubt is excluded, and 
all possibility of mistake shut out.—It is different in dem¬ 
onstrations ; the assent which we yield is at all times of 
the highest kind, and is never susceptible of being regard¬ 
ed as more or less. This results, as must be obvioSs on 
the slightest examination, from the nature of demonstra¬ 
tive reasoning. 

In demonstrative reasonings we always begin with 


DEMONSTRATIVE REASONING. 


205 


certain first principles or truths, either known or taken for 
granted ; and these hold the first place, or are the found¬ 
ation of that series of propositions over which the mind 
successively passes until it rests in the conclusion. In 
mathematics, the first principles, of which we here speak, 
are the definitions. 

We begin, therefore, with what is acknowledged by 
all to be true or certain. At every step there is an intui¬ 
tive perception of the agreement or disagreement of the 
propositions which are compared together. Consequent¬ 
ly, however far we may advance in the comparison of 
them, there is no possibility of falling short of that degree 
of assent with which it is acknowledged that the series 
commenced.—So that demonstrative certainty may be 
judged to amount to this. Whenever we arrive at the 
last step, or the conclusion of a series of propositions, the 
mind, in effect, intuitively perceives the relation, whether 
it be the agreement or disagreement, coincidence or want 
of coincidence, between the last step or the conclusion, 
and the conditions involved in the propositions at the 
commencement of the series; and, therefore, demonstra¬ 
tive certainty is virtually the same as the certainty of in¬ 
tuition. Although it arises on a different occasion, and 
is, therefore, entitled to a separate consideration, there is 
no difference in the degree of belief. 

$ 189. Of the use of diagrams in demonstrations. 

In conducting a demonstrative process, it is frequently 
the case that we make use of various kinds of figures or 
diagrams.—The proper use of diagrams, of a square, cir¬ 
cle, triangle, or other figure which we delineate before 
us, is to assist the mind in keeping its ideas distinct, and 
to help in comparing them together with readiness and 
correctness. They are a sort of auxiliaries, brought in to 
the help of our intellectual infirmities, but are not abso¬ 
lutely necessary; since demonstrative reasoning, where- 
ever it may be found, resembles any other kind of reason¬ 
ing in this most important respect, viz., in being a com¬ 
parison of our ideas. 

In proof that artificial diagrams are only auxiliaries, 
and are not essentially necessary in demonstrations, it 
S 




206 


MORAL REASONING. 


may be remarked, that they are necessarily all of them 
imperfect. It is not within the capability of the wit and 
power of man to frame a perfect circle, or a perfect tri¬ 
angle, or any other figure which is perfect. We might 
argue this from our general knowledge of the imperfec¬ 
tion of the senses; and we may almost regard it as a 
matter determined by experiments of the senses them¬ 
selves, aided by optical instruments. “ There never was,” 
says Cudworth, “ a straight line, triangle, or circle, that we 
saw in all our lives, that was mathematically exact; but 
even sense itself, at least by the help of microscopes, 
might plainly discover much unevenness, ruggedness, flex- 
uosity, angulosity, irregularity, and deformity in them.”* 
Our reasonings, therefore, and our conclusions, will not 
apply to the figures before us, but merely to an imagined 
perfect figure. The mind can not only originate a figure 
internally and subjectively, but can ascribe to it the attri¬ 
bute of perfection. And a verbal statement of the prop¬ 
erties of this imagined perfect figure is what we under¬ 
stand by a definition, the use of which, in this kind of 
reasoning in particular, has already been mentioned. 


CHAPTER XL 

MORAL REASONING. 

$ 190. Of the subjects and importance of moral reasoning. 

Moral reasoning, which is the second great division or 
kind of reasoning, concerns opinions, actions, and events; 
embracing, in general, those subjects which do not come 
within the province of demonstrative reasoning. The 
subjects to which it relates are often briefly expressed, by 
saying that they are matters of fact; nor would this defi¬ 
nition, concise as it is, be likely to give an erroneous idea 
of them. 

Skill in this kind of reasoning is of great use in the 
formation of opinions concerning the duties and the gen- 
* Treatise concerning Immutable Morality, bk. iv., ch. iii. 



MORAL REASONING# 


207 


eral conduct of life. Some may be apt to think, that 
those who have been most practised in demonstrative rea¬ 
soning can find no difficulty in adapting their intellectual 
habits to matters of mere probability 7 . This opinion is 
not altogether well founded. Although that species of 
reasoning has a favourable result in giving persons a 
command over the attention, and in some other respects, 
whenever exclusively employed it has the effect, in some 
degree, to disqualify them for a correct judgment on those 
various subjects which properly belong to moral reason¬ 
ing.—The last, therefore, which has its distinctive name 
from the primary signification of the Latin mores, viz., 
manners , customs , &c., requires a separate consideration. 

$ 191. Of the nature of moral certainty. 

Moral reasoning causes in us different degrees of as¬ 
sent, and in this respect differs from demonstrative. In 
demonstration there is not only an immediate perception 
of the relation of the propositions compared together; 
but, in consequence of their abstract and determinate na¬ 
ture, there is also a knowledge or absolute certainty of 
their agreement or disagreement. In moral reasoning 
the case is somewhat different.—In both kinds we begin 
with certain propositions, which are either known or re¬ 
garded as such. In both there is a series of propositions 
successively compared. But in moral reasoning, in con¬ 
sequence of the propositions not being abstract and fixed, 
and, therefore, often uncertain, the agreement or disagree¬ 
ment among them is, in general, not said to be known, 
but presumed ; and this presumption may be more or less, 
admitting a great variety of degrees. While, therefore, 
one mode of reasoning is attended with knowledge, the 
other can properly be said to produce, in most cases, only 
judgment or opinion.—But the probability of such judg¬ 
ment or opinion may sometimes arise so high as to ex¬ 
clude all reasonable doubt. And hence we then speak 
as if we possessed certainty in respect to subjects which 
admit merely of the application of moral reasoning. Al¬ 
though it is possible that there may be some difference 
between the belief attendant on demonstration and that 
produced by the highest probability, the effect on our 






203 


MORAL REASONING. 


feelings is, at any rate, essentially the same. A man 
who should doubt the existence of the cities of London 
and Pekin, although he has no other evidence of it than 
that of testimony, would be considered hardly less singu¬ 
lar and unreasonable than one who might take it into his 
head to doubt of the propositions of Euclid.—It is this 
very high degree of probability which we term moral 
certainty. 


$ 192. Of reasoning from analogy. 

Moral reasoning admits of some subordinate divisions; 
and of these, the first to be mentioned is reasoning from 
analogy .--The word analogy is used with some vague¬ 
ness, but, in general, denotes a resemblance, either greater 
or less.—Having observed a consistency and uniformity 
in the operations of the physical world, we are naturally 
led to presume that things of the same nature will be af¬ 
fected in the same way, and will produce the same effects; 
and also that the same or similar effects are to be attrib¬ 
uted to like causes. Analogical reasoning, therefore, is 
that mental process by which unknown truths or conclu¬ 
sions are inferred from the resemblance of things. 

The argument by which Sir Isaac Newton establishes 
the truth of universal gravitation is of this sort. He proves 
that the planets, in their revolutions, are deflected towards 
the sun in a manner precisely similar to the deflection of 
the earth towards the same luminary; and also that there 
is a similar deflection of the moon towards the earth, and 
of a body projected obliquely at the earth’s surface to¬ 
wards the earth’s centre. Hence he infers by analogy, 
that all these deflections originate from the same caused 
or are governed by one and the same law, viz., the power 
of gravitation. There are a variety of subjects, both spec¬ 
ulative and practical, in respect to which we may reason 
in this way, and sometimes with considerable satisfac¬ 
tion. It is nevertheless true, that much care is necessary 
in arguments drawn from this source, especially in sci¬ 
entific investigations. The proper use of analogical rea¬ 
soning in scientific inquiries seems to be, merely to illus¬ 
trate and confirm truths which are susceptible of proof 
from other sources of evidence, either by casting a direct 
additional light or by answering objections. 


MORAL REASONING. 


209 


$ 193. Of reasoning by induction. 

We now come to another method of moral reasoning, 
viz., by induction. Inductive reasoning is the inferring 
of general truths from particular facts that have fallen 
under our observation. Our experience teaches us that 
nature is governed by uniform laws ; and we have a firm 
expectation, (whether it be an original principle of our 
constitution, or whatever may be the origin of it,) that 
events will happen in future, as we have seen them hap¬ 
pen in times past. With this state of mind we are pre¬ 
pared to deduce inferences by induction. 

When a property has been found in a number of sub¬ 
jects of the same kind, and nothing of a contradictory 
nature appears, we have the strongest expectation of 
finding the same property in all the individuals of the 
same class; in other words, we come to the conclusion 
that the property is a general one. Accordingly, we ap¬ 
ply a magnet to several pieces of iron; we find, in every 
instance, a strong attraction taking place; and we con¬ 
clude, although we have made the experiment with only 
a small number of the masses of iron actually in exist¬ 
ence, that it is a property of iron to be thus affected by 
that substance, or that all iron is susceptible of magneti- 
cal attraction. This is a conclusion drawn by induction. 

The belief which attends a well-conducted process of 
inductive reasoning bears a decided character; it is moral 
probability of the highest kind, or what is sometimes term¬ 
ed moral certainty; and is at least found to be sufficient 
for all practical purposes. We obtain all the general 
truths relating to the properties and laws of material ob¬ 
jects in this way. 

And we thus not only acquire a knowledge of material 
objects, but apply the same inductive process also in the 
investigation of laws which govern the operations of the 
mind. It is by experience, or observing what takes place 
in a number of individuals, that we are able to infer the 
general law of association, viz., when two or more ideas 
have existed in the mind in immediate succession, they 
are afterward found to be mutually suggested by each 
other. It is the same in ascertaining other general laws 
of the mind. 

S 2 


210 


MORAL REASONING. 


§ 194. Of combined or accumulated arguments. 

When a proposition in geometry is given to be demon¬ 
strated, it sometimes happens that two or more solutions 
may be offered leading to the same end. The theorem 
or the problem is one and the same, as also the conclu¬ 
sion ; but there may be more than one train of reasoning, 
more than one series of intermediate steps connecting the 
proposition which is to be investigated with the result. 
But as the conclusion in each of these different cases is 
certain, it does not strengthen it, although it may gratify 
curiosity to resort to a different and additional process. 

It is not thus in moral reasoning. The great difference 
between the two kinds of reasoning, as before observed, 
is not so much in the mental process as in the subjects 
about which they are employed. Now, as the subjects in 
moral reasoning are not of a purely abstract nature, and 
are, therefore, often attended with uncertainty, our belief, 
when we arrive at the conclusion, is not always of the 
highest kind. More frequently it is some inferior degree 
of probability. Hence, in any moral inquiry, the more 
numerous the series of arguments which terminates in a 
particular conclusion, the stronger will be our belief in 
the truth of that conclusion. 

Thus we may suppose a question to arise, Whether the 
Romans occupied the island of Great Britain at some pe¬ 
riod previous to the Saxon conquest ? In reference to 
this inquiry a number of independent arguments may be 
brought forward. (1.) The testimony of the Roman his¬ 
torians. (2.) The remains of buildings, roads, and en¬ 
campments, which indicate a Roman origin. (3.) The 
coins, urns, &c., which have been discovered. Although 
these arguments are independent of each other, they all 
bear upon the same conclusion; and, being combined to¬ 
gether, they very essentially increase the strength of our 
belief. 


PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS IN REASONING. 


211 


CHAPTER XII. 

PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS IN REASONING. 

§ 195. Rules relating to the practice of reasoning. 

Various directions have been given by writers on Lo¬ 
gic, (which, it may be remarked here, is only another 
name for whatever concerns the nature, kinds, and appli¬ 
cations of Reasoning,) the object of which is to secure the 
more prompt, accurate, and efficient use of the reasoning 
power. It is but natural to suppose, that some of these 
dialectical rules are of greater, and others of less value. 
Such as appeared to be of the least questionable impor¬ 
tance, are brought together and explained in this chapter; 
nor will this occasion any surprise, when it is recollected 
that it has been the object of this work throughout, not 
only to ascertain what the mental operations are, but, by 
practical suggestions from time to time, to promote what 
is of a good, and prevent what is of a hurtful tendency in 
such operations. 

The directions now referred to have, of course, a more 
intimate connexion with Moral than with Demonstrative 
reasoning; but this is a circumstance which enhances 
rather than diminishes their worth. The occasions which 
admit and require the application of moral reasoning, 
being inseparable from the most common occurrences and 
exigences of life, are much more numerous than those 
of demonstrative reasoning. 

§ 196. Of being influenced in reasoning by a love of the truth. 

(I.) The first direction in relation to reasoning which 
will be given, concerns the feelings with which it is prop¬ 
er to be animated. It is this. In all questions which 
admit of discussion, and on which we find ourselves at 
variance with the opinions of others, vie are to make truth 
our object .—The opposite of a desire of the truth is a wish 
to decide the subject of dispute in one way rather than 
another, independently of a just consideration of the evi- 


212 PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS IN REASONING. 

dence. The foundation of such a preference of one result 
to another are, in general, the prejudices of interest and 
passion; and these are the great enemies of truth. When¬ 
ever we are under their influence, we form a different es¬ 
timation of testimony, and of other sources of evidence, 
from what we should do under other circumstances; and 
at such times they can hardly fail to lead us to false re¬ 
sults.—This rule is important on all occasions of reason¬ 
ing whatever, but particularly in public debate; because 
at such times the presence of others and the love of vic¬ 
tory combine with other unpropitious influences to in¬ 
duce men to forget or to disregard the claims which truth 
is always entitled to enforce. 

$ 197. Care to be used in correctly stating the subject of discussion. 

(II.) Another rule in the prosecution of an argument is, 
that the question under debate is to be fairly and correctly 
stated. The matter in controversy may be stated in such 
a way as to include, in the very enunciation of it, some¬ 
thing taken for granted, which must necessarily lead to a 
decision in favour of one of the opponents. But this 
amounts to begging the question, a species of fallacy or 
sophism upon which we shall again have occasion to re¬ 
mark.—Sometimes the subject of discussion is stated so 
carelessly, that the true point at issue is wholly left out. 
It may be proper, therefore, in many cases, to adopt the 
practice of special pleaders, and first to ascertain all the 
points in which the opponents agree, and those in which 
they differ. And then they can hardh %il of directing 
their arguments to what is truly the subject of contention. 

In order that there may not be a possibility of misun¬ 
derstanding here, dialecticians should aim to have clear 
ideas of everything stated in the question which has an 
intimate connexion with the point at issue. Subordinate 
parts of the question, and even particular words, are to be 
examined. If, for instance, the statement affirm or deny 
anything in regard to the qualities or properties of mate¬ 
rial bodies, it is incumbent upon us to possess as clear 
ideas as possible, both of the object in general, and of 
those properties or qualities in particular. Similar re¬ 
marks will apply to other subjects of inquiry of whatev¬ 
er kind. 


PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS IN REASONING. 213 

§ 198. Consider the kind of evidence applicable to the subject. 

(III.) As one subject clearly admits of the application 
of one species of evidence, while another as clearly re¬ 
quires evidence of a different kind, we are thence enabled 
to lay down this rule, viz., We are to consider what kind 
of evidence is appropriate to the question under discus¬ 
sion. 

When the inquiry is one of a purely abstract nature, 
and all the propositions involved in the reasoning are of 
the same kind, then we have the evidence of Intuition or 
intuitive perception; and the conclusion, for reasons al¬ 
ready mentioned, is certain.-—In the examination of the 
properties of material bodies, we depend originally on 
the evidence of the Senses; which gives a character and 
strength to our belief, according to the circumstances un¬ 
der which the objects are presented to them.—In judging 
of those facts in events and in the conduct of men which 
have not come under our own observation, we rely on Tes¬ 
timony. This source of belief causes probability in a 
greater or less degree, according as the testimony is from 
one or more, given by a person who understands the sub¬ 
ject to which it relates, or not, &c.—And again, some 
subjects admit of the evidence of Induction, and in re¬ 
spect to others we have no other aids than the less au¬ 
thoritative reasonings from Analogy. In other cases, the 
evidence is wholly made up of various incidental circum¬ 
stances, which are found to have relation to the subject in 
hand, and which affect the belief in different degrees and 
for various causes. 

And hence, as the sources of belief, as well as the be¬ 
lief itself, have an intimate connexion with the subject be¬ 
fore us, they ought to be taken into consideration. The 
evidence should be appropriate to the question. But if 
the question admit of more than one kind of evidence, 
then all are entitled to their due weight. 

$ 199. Reject the aid of false arguments or sophisms. 

(IV.) There is a species of false reasoning which we 
call a sophism. A sophism is an argument which con¬ 
tains some secret fallacy under the general appearance of 
correctness. The aid of such arguments, which are cal- 



214 


PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS IN REASONING. 


culated to deceive, and are, in general, inconsistent with 
a love of the truth, should be rejected. 

(1.) Ignoratio elenchi, or misapprehension of the 
question, is one instance of sophism. It exists when, 
from some misunderstanding of the terms and phrases that 
are employed, the arguments advanced do not truly apply 
to the point in debate. It was a doctrine, for instance, 
of some of the early philosophic teachers of Greece, that 
there is but one principle of things. Aristotle, under¬ 
standing by the word principle what we commonly ex¬ 
press by the word element, attempted to show the con¬ 
trary, viz., that the elements are not one, but many; thus 
incurring the imputation of ignoratio elenchi ; for those 
who held the doctrine which was thus subjected to his 
animadversion, had reference, not to the forms, but the 
cause ot things; not to any doctrine of elementary mate¬ 
rial particles, but to the intellectual origin, the creative 
mind, the Supreme Being, whom, as the principle, (that 
is, as the beginning and the support of things,) they main¬ 
tained to be one.* 8 1 J 

(2.) Petitio principii, or begging of the question, is 
another instance of sophism. This sophism is found 
whenever the disputant offers, in proof of a proposition, 
the proposition itself in other words. The following has 
been given as an instance of this fallacy in reasoning:— 
A person attempts to prove that God is eternal, by main¬ 
taining that his existence is without beginning and with¬ 
out end. Here the proof which is offered, and the prop¬ 
osition itself which is to be proved, are essentially the 
same.—When we are told that opium causes sleep, be¬ 
cause it has a soporific quality, or that grass grows bv 
means of its vegetative power, the same thing is repeated 
in other terms.—This fallacy is very frequently practised; 
and a little care in detecting it would spoil many a fine 
saymg, as well as deface many an elaborate argument. 
What is called arguing in a circle is a species of soph¬ 
ism very nearly related to the above. It consists in ma- 
kmg two propositions reciprocally prove each other. 

(3.) Non causa pro causa, or the assignation of a false 

* La Logique ou L’art de Penser, (Port Royale,) part iii., chap. xix. 


PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS IN REASONING. 


215 


cause.—People are unwilling to be thought ignorant; 
rather than be thought so, they will impose on the credu¬ 
lity of their fellow-men, and sometimes on themselves, 
by assigning false causes of events. Nothing is more 
common than this sophism among illiterate people; pride 
is not diminished by deficiency of learning, and such 
people, therefore, must gratify it by assigning such causes 
of events as they find nearest at hand. Hence, when the 
appearance of a comet is followed by a famine or a war, 
they are disposed to consider it as the cause of those ca¬ 
lamities. If a person have committed some flagrant 
crime, and shortly after suffer some heavy distress, it is 
no uncommon thing to hear the former assigned as the 
direct and the sole cause of the latter. This was the fal¬ 
lacy which historians have ascribed to the Indians of 
Paraguay, who supposed the baptismal ceremony to be 
the cause of death, because the Jesuit missionaries, when¬ 
ever opportunity offered, administered it to dying infants, 
and to adults in the last stage of disease. 

(4.) Another species of sophistry is called fallacia 
accidentis. —We fall into this kind of false reasoning 
whenever we give an opinion concerning the general 
nature of a thing from some accidental circumstance. 
Thus, the Christian religion has been made the pretext for 
persecutipns, and has, in consequence, been the source of 
much suffering; but it is a sophism to conclude that it is, 
on the whole, not a great good to the human race, be¬ 
cause it has been attended with this perversion. Again, 
if a medicine have operated in a particular case unfa¬ 
vourably, or, in another case, have operated very favour¬ 
ably, the universal rejection or reception of it, in conse¬ 
quence of the favourable or unfavourable result in a par¬ 
ticular instance, would be a hasty and fallacious induc¬ 
tion of essentially the same sort. That is, the general 
nature of the thing is estimated from a circumstance 
which may be wholly accidental. 

$ 200. Fallacia equivocations, or the use of equivocal terms and phrases. 

(V.) It is a further direction of much practical impor¬ 
tance, that the reasoner should be careful, in the use of 
language, to express everything with plainness and pre- 


216 PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS IN REASONING. 

cision; and, especially, never attempt to prejudice the 
cause of truth, and snatch a surreptitious victory by the 
use of an equivocal phraseology. No man of an enlar¬ 
ged and cultivated mind can be ignorant that multitudes 
of words in every language admit of diversities of sig¬ 
nification. There are found also in all languages many 
words, which sometimes agree with each other, and 
sometimes differ in signification, according to the connex¬ 
ion in which they appear, and their particular application. 
There is, therefore, undoubtedly an opportunity, if any 
should be disposed to embrace it, of employing equivocal 
terms, equivocal phrases, and perplexed and mysterious 
combinations of speech, and thus hiding themselves from 
the penetrating light of truth, under cover of a mist of 
their own raising. 

No man, whose sole object is truth and justice, will re¬ 
sort to such a discreditable subterfuge. If, in reasoning, 
he finds himself inadvertently employing words of an . 
equivocal signification, it will be a first care with him to | 
guard against the misapprehensions likely to result from j 
that source. He will explain so precisely the sense in I 
which he uses the doubtful terms, as to leave no proba¬ 
bility of cavilling and mistake. 

$ 201. Of the sophism of estimating actions and character from the cir¬ 
cumstance of success merely. 

(VI.) The foregoing are some of the fallacies in rea¬ 
soning which have found a place in writers of Logic. 

To these might be added the fallacy or sophism to which 
men are obviously so prone, of judging favourably of 
the characters and the deeds of others from the mere ■ 
circumstance of success. Those actions which have a 
decidedly successful termination are almost always ap¬ 
plauded, and are looked upon as the result of great intel¬ 
lectual forecast; while, not less frequently, actions that 
have an unsuccessful issue are not only stigmatized as 
evil in themselves, but as indicating in their projector a 
flighty and ill-balanced mind.—The fallacy, however, 
does not consist in taking the issues or results into consid¬ 
eration, which are undoubtedly entitled to their due place 
in estimating the actions and characters of men, but in 
too much limiting our view of things, and forming a fa- i 







PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS IN REASONING. 217 

vourable or unfavourable judgment from the mere cir¬ 
cumstance of good or ill success alone. 

While there is no sophism more calculated to lead as¬ 
tray and perplex, there is none more common than this; 
so much so, that it has almost passed into a proverb, that 
a hero must not only be brave, but fortunate. Hence it 
is that Alexander is called Great because he gained victo¬ 
ries and overran kingdoms; while Charles XII. of Swe¬ 
den, who the most nearly resembles him in the character¬ 
istics of bravery, perseverance, and chimerical ambition, 
but had his projects cut short at the fatal battle of Pulto- 
wa, is called a madman. 

“ Machiavel has justly animadverted,” says Dr. John¬ 
son, “on the different notice taken by all succeeding 
times of the two great projectors Catiline and Caesar. 
Both formed the same project, and intended to raise 
themselves to power by subverting the commonwealth. 
They pursued their design, perhaps, with equal abilities 
and equal virtue; but Catiline perished in the field, and 
Caesar returned from Pharsalia with unlimited authority; 
and from that time, every monarch of the earth has 
thought himself honoured by a comparison with Caesar; 
and Catiline has never been mentioned but that his name 
might be applied to traitors and incendiaries.” 

$ 202. Of adherence to our opinions. 

Whenever the rules laid down have been followed, and 
conclusions have been formed with a careful and candid 
regard to the evidence presented, those opinions are to be 
asserted and maintained with a due degree of confidence. 
It would evince an unjustifiable weakness to be driven 
from our honest convictions by the effrontery, or even by 
the upright though misguided zeal, of an opponent. Not 
that a person is to set himself up for infallible, and to sup¬ 
pose that new accessions of evidence are impossible, or 
that it is an impossibility for him to have new views of the 
evidence already examined. But a suitable degree of 
stability is necessary in order to be respected and useful; 
and, in the case supposed, such stability can be exhibited 
without incurring the charge, which is sometimes thrown 
out, of doggedness and intolerance. 



218 


PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS IN REASONING. 


It is further to be observed, that we are not always to 
relinquish judgments which have been formed in the way 
pointed out, when objections are afterward raised which 
we cannot immediately answer. The person thus attack¬ 
ed can, with good reason, argue in this way: I have once 
examined the subject carefully and candidly; the evi¬ 
dence, both in its particulars and in its multitude of bear¬ 
ings, has had its weight; many minute and evanescent 
circumstances were taken into view by the mind, which 
have now vanished from my recollection ; I therefore do 
not feel at liberty to alter an opinion thus formed, in 
consequence of an objection now brought up, which I am 
unable to answer, but choose to adhere to my present 
judgment, until the whole subject, including this objec¬ 
tion, can be re-examined.—This reasoning would in most 
cases be correct, and would be entirely consistent with 
that love of truth and openness to conviction which ought 
ever to be maintained. 

§ 203. Effects on the mind of debating for victory instead of truth. 

By way of supporting the remarks under the first rule, 
we here introduce the subject of contending for victory 
merely. He who contends with this object, takes every 
advantage of his opponent which can subserve his own 
purpose. For instance, he will demand a species of proof 
or a degree of proof which the subject in dispute does not 
admit; he gives, if possible, a false sense to the words 
and statements employed by the other side ; he questions 
facts which he himself fully believes and everybody else, 
in the expectation that the opposite party is not furnished 
with direct and positive evidence of them. In a word, 
wherever an opening presents, he takes the utmost advan¬ 
tage of his opponent, however much against his own in¬ 
ternal convictions of right and justice. 

Such a course, to say nothing of its moral turpitude, 
effectually unsettles that part of our mental economy 
which concerns the grounds and laws of belief. The 
practice of inventing cunningly devised objections against 
arguments known to be sound, necessarily impairs the in¬ 
fluence which such arguments ought to exert over us. 
Hence the remark has been made with justice, that per- 


IMAGINATION. 


219 


sons who addict themselves to this practice frequently 
end in becoming skeptics. They have so often perplex- 
j ed, and apparently overthrown what they felt to be true, 

I that they at last question the existence of any fixed ground 
of belief in the human constitution, and begin to doubt 
of everything. 

This effect, even when there is an undoubted regard 
; for the truth, will be found to follow from habits of ar¬ 
dent disputation, unless there be a frequent recurrence to 
the original principles of the mind which relate to the 
nature and laws of belief. The learned Chillingworth is 
an instance. The consequences to which the training up 
of his vast powers to the sole art of disputation finally 
led, are stated by Clarendon.—“ Mr. Chillingworth had 
spent all his younger time in disputations, and had arrived 
at so great a mastery that he was inferior to no man in 
[ those skirmishes; but he had, with his notable perfection 
in this exercise, contracted such an irresolution and habit 
of doubting, that, by degrees, he became confident of 
nothing. Neither the books of his adversaries nor any of 
their persons, though he was acquainted with the best of 
both, had ever made great impression on him. All his 
doubts grew out of himself, when he assisted his scruples 
with all the strength of his own reason, and was then too 
hard for himself.” 


CHAPTER Xin. 

IMAGINATION. 

$ 204. Imagination an intellectual rather than a sensitive process. 

Leaving the subject of reasoning, we next proceed to 
the consideration of the Imagination; which, as well as 
the reasoning power, obviously comes under the general 
head of the Intellect rather than of the Sensibilities. It 
is true, wo are apt to associate the exercises of the heart 
with those of the imagination, and undoubtedly we have 
some reason for doing so; but in doing this we are liable 








220 


IMAGINATION. 


not merely to associate, but to identify and confound them. 
But they are, in fact, essentially different. An exercise of 
the Imagination, in itself considered , is purely an intel¬ 
lectual process. The process may, indeed, be stimulated 
and accelerated by a movement of the sensibilities; there 
may be various extraneous influences operating either to 
increase or to diminish its vivacity and energy; but the 
process itself, considered separately from contingent cir¬ 
cumstances, is wholly intellectual. So that he who pos¬ 
sesses a creative and well-sustained imagination, may be 
said, with no small degree of truth, to possess a powerful 
intellect, whatever torpidity may characterize the region 
of the affections. 

$ 205. The imagination closely related to the reasoning power. 

The imagination is not only entitled to be ranked un¬ 
der the general head of the Intellect, in distinction from 
the Sensibilities ; but it is to be remarked further, which 
may perhaps have escaped the notice of some, that it pos¬ 
sesses, especially in the process or mode of its action, a 
close affinity with the reasoning power. It is a remark 
ascribed to D’Alembert, whose great skill in the mathe¬ 
matics would seem to justify his giving an opinion on 
such a subject, that the imagination is brought into exer¬ 
cise in geometrical processes; which is probably true, 
so far as some of the mental acts involved in imagination, 
such as association and the perception of relations, are 
concerned. And, in illustration of his views, he inti¬ 
mates, in the same connexion, that Archimedes the geom¬ 
etrician, of all the great men of antiquity, is best entitled 
to be placed by the side of Homer* Certain it is, that, 
in some important respects, there,is an intimate relation¬ 
ship between the powers in question, the deductive and 
imaginative. They both imply the antecedent exercise 
of the power of abstraction; they are both occupied in 
framing new combinations of thought from the elements 
already in possession; they both put in requisition, and in 
precisely the same way, the powers of association and rel¬ 
ative suggestion. But, at the same time, they are separ¬ 
ated from each other and characterised by the two cir¬ 
cumstances, that their objects are different, and that they 
* Stewart’s Historical Dissertation.-—Prefatory Remarks. 


IMAGINATION. 


221 


operate, in part, on different materials. Reasoning, as it 
aims to give us a knowledge of the truth, deals exclusive¬ 
ly with facts more or less probable. Imagination, as it 
aims chiefly to give pleasure, is at liberty to transcend 
the limits of the world of reality, and, consequently, often 
deals with the mere conceptions of the mind, whether 
they correspond to reality or not. Accordingly, the one 
ascertains what is true, the other what is possible; the 
office of the one is to inquire, of the other to create; rea¬ 
soning is exercised within the limits of what is known and 
actual, while the appropriate empire of the imagination is 
the region of the conjectural and conceivable. 

$ 206. Definition of the power of imagination. 

Without delaying longer upon the subject, which, how¬ 
ever, is not without its importance, of the place which im¬ 
agination ought to occupy in a philosophical classification 
of the mental powers, we next proceed to consider more 
particularly what imagination is, and in what manner it 
operates.—Imagination is a complex exercise of the mind, 
by means of which various conceptions are combined to¬ 
gether, so as to form new wholes. The conceptions ha\ e 
properly enough been regarded as the materials from 
which the new^ creations are made ; but it is not until af¬ 
ter the existence of those mental acts which are implied 
in every process of the imagination, that they are fixed 
upon, detained, and brought out from their state of single¬ 
ness into happy and beautiful combinations. 

Our conceptions have been compared to shapeless 
stones, as they exist in the quarry, “ which require little 
more than mechanic labour to convert them into common 
dwellings, but that rise into palaces and temples only at 
the command of architectural genius.” That rude and 
little more than mechanic effort, which converts the shape¬ 
less stones of the quarry into common dwellings, may 
justly be considered, when divested of its metaphorical 
aspect a correct representation of this mental property as 
it exists aihong the great mass of mankind 5 while the 
architectural genius which creates palaces and temples is 
the well-furnished and sublime imagination of poets, 
painters, and orators. 








222 


IMAGINATION. 


We speak of imagination as a complex mental opera¬ 
tion, because it implies, in particular, the exercise of the 
power of association in furnishing those conceptions which 
are combined together; also the exercise of the power of 
relative suggestion, by means of which the combination is 
effected. 

$ 207. Process of the mind in the creations of the imagination. 

It may assist us in more fully understanding the nature 
of imagination, if we endeavour to examine the intellect¬ 
ual operations of one who makes a formal effort at wri¬ 
ting, whether the production he has in view be poetical or i 
of some other kind.—A person cannot ordinarily be sup¬ 
posed to sit down to write on any occasion whatever, 
whether it involve a higher or lesser degree of the exer¬ 
cise of the imagination, without having some general idea 1 
of the subject to be written upon already in the mind. 
The general idea, or the subject in its outlines , must be 
supposed to be already present. He accordingly com¬ 
mences the task before him with the expectation and the 
desire of developing the subject more or less fully, of giv¬ 
ing to it not only a greater continuity and a better ar¬ 
rangement, but an increased interest in every respect. I 
As he feels interested in the topic which he proposes to 
write upon, he can, of course, by a mere act of the will, i 
although he might not have been able in the first instance 
to have originated it by such an act, detain it before him 
for a length of time. 

Various conceptions continue, in the mean while, to 
arise in the mind, on the common principles of asso¬ 
ciation; but, as the general outline of the subject re¬ 
mains fixed, they all have a greater or less relation to it. 
And partaking in some measure of the permanency of 
the outline to which they have relation, the writer has 
an opportunity to approve some and to reject others, ac¬ 
cording as they impress him as being suitable or unsuita¬ 
ble to the nature of the subject. Those which affect him 
with emotions of pleasure, on account of their perceived 
fitness for the subject, are retained and committed to wri¬ 
ting ; while others, which do not thus affect and interest 
him, soon fade away altogether.—Whoever carefully no- 




IMAGINATION. 


223 


tices the operations of his own mind, when he makes an 
effort at composition, will probably be well satisfied that 
this account of the intellectual process is very near the 
truth. 

$ 208 . Further remarks on the same subject. 

The process, therefore, stated in the most simple and 
concise terms, is as follows. We first think of some sub¬ 
ject. With the original thought or design of the subject, 
there is a coexistent desire to investigate it, to adorn it, 
to present it to the examination of others. The effect of 
this desire, followed and aided as it naturally is at such 
times by an act of the will, is to keep the general subject 
in mind; and, as the natural consequence of the exercise 
of association, various conceptions arise, in some way or 
other related to the general subject. Of some of these 
conceptions we approve in consequence of their perceived 
fitness to the end in view, while we reject others on ac¬ 
count of the absence of this requisite quality of agreeable¬ 
ness or fitness. 

For the sake of convenience and brevity we give the 
name of imagination to this complex state or series of states 
of the mind. It is important to possess a single term ex¬ 
pressive of the complex intellectual process; otherwise, 
as we so frequently have occasion to refer to it in com¬ 
mon conversation, we should be subjected, if not proper¬ 
ly to a circumlocution, at least to an unnecessary multipli¬ 
cation of words. But while we find it so much for our 
convenience to make use of this term, we should be care¬ 
ful and not impose upon ourselves, by ever remembering 
that it is the name, nevertheless, not of an original and 
independent faculty, which of itself accomplishes all that 
has been mentioned, but of a complex or combined ac¬ 
tion of a number of faculties. 

$ 209 . Illustration from the writings of Dr. Reid. 

Dr. Reid (Essay iv., ch. iv.) gives the following graph¬ 
ical statement of the selection which is made by the wri¬ 
ter from the variety of his constantly arising and depart¬ 
ing conceptions.—“ We seem to treat the thoughts, that 
present themselves to the fancy in crowds, as a great man 



224 


IMAGINATION. 


treats those [courtiers] that attend his levee. They are 
all ambitious of his attention. He goes round the circle, 
bestowing a bow upon one, a smile upon another, asks a 
short question of a third, while a fourth is honoured with 
a particular conference; and the greater part have no 
particular mark of attention, but go as they came. It is 
true, he can give no mark of his attention to those who 
were not there ; but he has a sufficient number for making 
a choice and distinction.” 

§ 210. Grounds of the preference of one conception to another. 

A question after all arises, On what principle is the 
mind enabled to ascertain that congruity or incongruity, 
fitness or unfitness, agreeably to which it makes the selec¬ 
tion from its various conceptions ? The fact is admitted, 
that the intellectual principle is successively in a series of 
different states, or, in other words, that there are successive 
conceptions or images, but the inquiry still remains, Why 
is one image in the group thought or known to be more 
worthy than any other image, or why are any two ima¬ 
ges combined together in preference to any two others ? 

The answer is, it is owing to no secondary law, but to 
an instantaneous and original suggestion of fitness or unfit¬ 
ness. Those conceptions which, by means of this origi¬ 
nal power of perceiving the relations of things, are found 
to be suitable to the general outlines of the subject, are 
detained. Those images which are perceived to possess 
a peculiar congruity and fitness for each other, are united 
together, forming new and more beautiful compounds. 
While others, although no directly voluntary power ap¬ 
pears to be exercised over either class, are neglected and 
soon become extinct. But no account of this vivid feel¬ 
ing of approval or disapproval, of this very rapid percep¬ 
tion of the mutual congruity of the images for each other 
or for the general conception of the subject, can be given, 
other than this, that with such a power the original au¬ 
thor of our intellectual susceptibilities has been pleased to 
form us. This is our nature; here we find one of the 
elements of our intellectual efficiency; without it we 
might still be intellectual beings, but it would be with 
the loss both of the reasoning power and of the imagi¬ 
nation. 


IMAGINATION. 


225 


$ 211. Illustration of the subject from Milton. 

What has been said can perhaps be made plainer, by 
considering in what way Milton must have proceeded in 
forming his happy description of the Garden of Eden. 
He had formed, in the first place, some general outlines 
of the subject; and as it was one which greatly interest¬ 
ed his feelings, the interest which was felt tended to keep 
the outlines steadily before him. If the feeling of inter¬ 
est was not sufficient to keep the general subject before 
the mind, he could hardly fail to detain it there by add¬ 
ing the influence of a direct and decisive act of the will. 
Then the principles of association, which are ever at work, 
brought up a great variety of conceptions, having a rela¬ 
tion of some kind to those general features ; such as con¬ 
ceptions of rocks, and woods, and rivers, and green leaves, 
and golden fruit. 

The next step was the exercise of that power which we 
have of perceiving relations, which we sometimes denom¬ 
inate the Judgment, but more appropriately the suscepti¬ 
bility or power of Relative Suggestion. By means of 
this he was at once able to determine, whether the con¬ 
ceptions which were suggested were suitable to the gen¬ 
eral design of the description and to each other, and 
whether they would have, when combined together to 
form one picture, a pleasing effect. Accordingly, those 
which were judged most suitable were combined together 
as parts of the imaginary creation, and were detained and 
fixed by means of that feeling of interest and those acts 
of the will which were at first exercised towards the more 
prominent outlines merely; while others speedily disap¬ 
peared from the mind. And thus arose an imaginary 
landscape, glowing with a greater variety and richness 
of beauty, more interesting and perfect, in every respect, 
than we can ever expect to find realized in nature. 

$ 212. The creations of imagination not entirely voluntary. 

From the explanation which has been given of the op¬ 
erations of the power under consideration, it will be seen 
that, in its action, it is subject to limitations and restrictions. 
The opinion, that even persons of the most ready and 
fruitful imagination can form new imaginary creations 




226 


IMAGINATION. 


whenever they choose, by a mere volition, however wide¬ 
ly it may have prevailed, does not appear to be well 
founded. In accordance with what may be regarded as 
the common opinion, we will suppose, as an illustration 
of what we mean, that a person wills to imagine a sea of 
melted brass, or an immense body of liquid matter which 
has that appearance. The very expressions, it will be 
noticed, are nugatory and without meaning, since the sea 
of brass which the person wills to conceive of or imagine, 
is, by the very terms of the proposition, already present 
to his thoughts. Whatever a person wills, or, rather, pro¬ 
fesses to will to imagine, he has, in fact, already imagin¬ 
ed ; and, consequently, there can be no such thing as 
imaginations which are exclusively the result of a direct 
act of the will. So that the powers of invention, although 
the influence of the indirect and subordinate action of the 
will may be considerable, must be aroused and quickened 
to their highest efforts in some other way. 

And this view admits of some practical applications. 
Men of the greatest minds (great, we mean, in the walks 
of literature) are kept in check by the principles which 
are involved in the exercise of imagination. Genius, 
whatever capabilities we may attribute to it, has its laws. 
And it is true, in regard to every standard work of the 
imagination,, that it is the result, not of an arbitrary and 
unexplainable exercise of that power, but of a multitude 
of circumstances, prompting and regulating its action; 
such as the situation in life, early education, domestic 
habits, associates, reading, scenery, religion, and the in¬ 
fluence of local superstitions and traditionary incidents. 
These are like the rain and sunshine to the earth, without 
which it necessarily remains in its original barrenness 
giving no signs of vivification and beauty. In the matter 
of creative power, Bunyan will bear a comparison, un- 
doubtedly, with Walter Scott; but Scott, in the situation 
in which he was placed, and with the habits of thought 
and feeling which he cherished, could not have written 
the Pilgrim’s Progress; nor could Bunyan, on the other 
hand, have written the Heart of Mid Lothian; not be¬ 
cause either of them was destitute of the requisite degree 
of imagination, but because the creations of the imagina- 




IMAGINATION. 227 

tion always have a relation to circumstances, and are not 
the result of a purely arbitrary act of the will. 

§ 213. Illustration of the statements of the preceding section. 

It would be an easy matter, and not without interest, 
to illustrate this fact in the operations of the mind by a 
reference to the private history of those individuals from 
whom the great works of literature have originated. But, 
as this does not come within our plan, we will refer merely 
to a single instance.—Moore relates, in his life of Lord 
Byron, that on a certain occasion he found him occupied 
with the history of Agathon, a romance by Wieland. 
And, from some remarks made at the time, he seems to 
be of opinion that Byron was reading the work in ques¬ 
tion as a means of furnishing suggestions to, and of quick¬ 
ening, his own imaginative powers. He then adds, “ I 
am inclined to think it was his practice, when engaged 
in the composition of any work, to excite his vein by the 
perusal of others on the same subject or plan, from which 
the slightest hint caught by his imagination, as he read, 
was sufficient to kindle there such a train of thought as, 
but for that spark, had never been awakened.” ^ 

This is said of a distinguished poet. Painting is an 
art kindred with poetry; and both are based on the im¬ 
agination. Accordingly, the remarks which have been 
made apply also to painting, and, indeed, to every other 
art which depends essentially on the imaginative power. 
“ Invention,” says Sir Joshua Reynolds, “ is one of the 
great marks of genius; but, if we consult experience, we 
shall find thaf it is by being conversant with the inven¬ 
tions of others that we learn to invent, as by reading the 
thoughts of others we learn to think. It is in vain for 
painters or poets to endeavour to invent without materials 
on which the mind may work, and from which invention 
must originate. Nothing can come of nothing. Homer 
is supposed to have been possessed of all the learning of 
his time; and we are certain that Michael Angelo and 
Raffaeile were equally possessed of all the knowledge in 
the art which had been discovered in the works of their 
predecessors.”* 

* Discourses before the Royal Academy, vi. 



228 


IMAGINATION. 


§ 214. On the utility of the faculty of the imagination. 

We have proceeded thus far in endeavouring to explain 
the nature of imagination; and we here turn aside from 
this general subject, for the purpose of remarking on the 
utility of this power. And this appears to be necessary, 
since there are some who seem disposed to prejudice its 
claims in that respect. They warmly recommend the 
careful culture of the memory, the judgment, and the rea¬ 
soning power, but look coldly and suspiciously on the 
imagination, and would rather encourage a neglect of it. 
But there is ground for apprehending that a neglect of 
this noble faculty in any person who aspires to §, hill de- 
velopement and growth of the mind, cannot be justified, 
either by considerations drawn from the nature of the 
mind itself, or by the practical results of such a course. 

In speaking on the utility of the imagination, it is cer¬ 
tainly a very natural reflection that the Creator had some 
design or purpose in furnishing men with it, since we find 
universally that he does nothing in vain. And what de¬ 
sign could he possibly have, if he did not intend that it 
should be employed, that it should be rendered active, 
and trained up with a suitable degree of culture ? But if 
we are thus forced upon the conclusion that this faculty 
was designed to be rendered active, we must further sup¬ 
pose that its exercise was designed to promote some useful 
purpose. And such, although it has sometimes been per¬ 
verted, has been the general result. 

Nowhere is the power of imagination seen to better 
advantage than in the Prophets of the Old Testament. 
If it be said that those venerable writers were inspired, it 
will still remain true that this was the faculty of the mind 
which inspiration especially honoured by the use which 
was made of it. And how many monuments may every 
civilized nation boast of in painting, architecture, and 
sculpture, as well as in poetry, where the imagination, in 
contributing to the national glory, has, at the same time, 
contributed to the national happiness! Many an hour it 
has beguiled by the new situations it has depicted, and 
the new views of human nature it has disclosed; many a 
pang of the heart it has subdued, either by introducing* us 


IMAGINATION. 


229 


eating the memory with its luxuriance and lulling it into 
a forgetfulness of ourselves; many a good resolution it 
has cherished, and subtending, as it were, a new and 
wider horizon around the intellectual being, has filled the 
soul with higher conceptions, and inspired it with higher 
hopes. Conscious of its immortal destiny, and struggling 
against the bounds that limit it, the soul enters with joy 
into those new and lofty creations which it is the prerog¬ 
ative of the imagination to form; and they seem to it a 
congenial residence. Such are the views which obviously 
present themselves on the slightest consideration of this 
subject; and it is not strange, therefore, that we find in 
the writings of no less a judge than Addison, some re¬ 
marks to this effect, that a refined imagination “ gives a 
man a kind of property in everything he sees, and makes 
the most rude, uncultivated parts of nature administer to 
his pleasures ; so that he looks upon the world, as it were, 
in another light, and discovers in it a multitude of charms 
that conceal themselves from the generality of mankind.” 

215. Importance of the imagination in connexion with reasoning. 

In remarking on the subject of the utility of the ima¬ 
gination, there is one important point of view in which it 
is capable of being considered; that of the relation of the 
imagination to the other intellectual powers. And, among 
other things, there is obviously ground for the remark, that 
a vigorous and well-disciplined imagination may be made 
subservient to promptness, and clearness, and success in 
reasoning. The remark is made, it will be noticed, on 
the supposition of the imagination being well disciplined, 
which implies that it is under suitable control; otherwise 
it will rather encumber and perplex than afford aid. 

Take, for instance, two persons, one of whom has cul¬ 
tivated the reasoning power exclusive of the imagination. 
We will suppose him to possess very deservedly the rep¬ 
utation of an able and weighty dialectician; but it will 
be obvious to the slightest observation, that there is, in 
one respect, a defect and failure; there is an evident want 
of selection and vivacity in the details of his argument. 
He cannot readily appreciate the relation which the hear¬ 
er’s mind sustains to the facts which he wishes to pre- 
U 





230 


IMAGINATION. 


sent; and accordingly, with much expense of patience on 
their part, he laboriously and very scrupulously takes up 
and examines everything which can come within his 
grasp, and bestows upon everything nearly an equal share 
of attention. And hence it is, that many persons who 
are acknowledged to be learned, diligent, and even suc¬ 
cessful in argument, at the same time sustain the reputa¬ 
tion, which is by no means an enviable one, of being 
dull, tiresome, and uninteresting. 

Let us now look a moment at another person, who is 
not only a man of great powers of ratiocination, but has 
cultivated his imagination, and has it under prompt and 
judicious command. He casts his eye rapidly over the 
whole field of argument, however extensive it may be, 
and immediately perceives what facts are necessary to be 
stated and what are not ; what are of prominent, and 
what of subordinate importance; what will be easily un¬ 
derstood and possess an interest, and what will be diffi¬ 
cult to be appreciated, and will also lose its due value 
from a want of attraction. And he does this on the same 
principles and in virtue of the same mental training 
which enables the painter, architect, sculptor, and poet, to 
present the outlines of grand and beautiful creations in 
their respective arts. There is a suitableness in the dif¬ 
ferent parts of the train of reasoning ; a correspondence 
of one part to another; a great and combined effect, en¬ 
hanced by every suitable decoration, and undiminished 
by any misplaced excrescence, which undoubtedly implies 
a perfection of the imagination in some degree kindred 
with that which projected the group of the Laocoon, 
crowned the hills of Greece with statues and temples, 
and lives in the works of renowned poets. The debater, 
who combines the highest results of reasoning with the 
highest results of the imagination, throws the light of his 
own splendid conceptions around the radiance of truth ; 
so that brightness shines in the midst of brightness, like 
the angel of the Apocalypse in the sun. 


DISORDERED INTELLECTUAL ACTION. 


231 


CHAPTER XIV. 

DISORDERED INTELLECTUAL ACTION. 

(i.) EXCITED CONCEPTIONS OR APPARITIONS. 

$ 216 . Disordered intellectual action as connected with the body. 

Having completed our examination of the Intellect so 
far as it presents itself to our notice in its more frequent 
and regular action, we now propose to conclude the sub¬ 
ject, by giving some instances of intellectual states which 
appear to take place in violation of its ordinary princi¬ 
ples. Whatever anticipations we might have been dis¬ 
posed to form a priori, in relation to the action of the 
mind, it is a matter abundantly confirmed by painful expe¬ 
rience and observation, that its operations are not always 
uniform; and that, in some cases, as we shall have occa¬ 
sion to see, it exhibits an utter and disastrous deviation 
from the laws which commonly regulate it. The causes 
of these deviations it may not be easy always, and in 
all respects, to explain; but it is well understood, that 
they are frequently connected with an irregular and dis¬ 
eased condition of the body. 

The mind, it will be recollected, exists in the threefold 
nature or threefold division of the Intellect, the Sensibil¬ 
ities, and the Will. The action of the Will depends upon 
the antecedent action of the Sensibilities; and that of 
the sensitive nature is based upon the antecedent action 
of the Intellect. The action of the Intellect or Under¬ 
standing is twofold, External and Internal. And we 
have already endeavoured, on a former occasion, to 
show, that the developement of the External Under¬ 
standing is first in the order of time, as it is obviously 
first in the order of nature. It is here, so far as the mind 
is concerned, that we find the commencement of action; 
but it is well understood, and seems to be entirely unde¬ 
niable, that all the action which takes place here, takes 
place in connexion with bodily action. The External in¬ 
tellect does not act, nor is it capable of acting, although 




232 DISORDERED INTELLECTUAL ACTION. 

the mind is so constituted that the movement of all the 
other parts depends upon movement here, without the an¬ 
tecedent affection of the outward or bodily senses. And 
hence the intellect generally, and particularly the Exter¬ 
nal intellect, is unfavourably affected, as a general thing, 
in connexion with a disordered state of the bodily sys¬ 
tem. 

§ 217. Of excited conceptions and of apparitions in general. 

The fact that disordered intellectual action is closely 
connected with a disordered state of the body, will aid, 
in some degree, in the explanation of the interesting sub¬ 
ject of excited conceptions or apparitions. Conceptions, 
the consideration of which is to be resumed in the pres¬ 
ent chapter, are those ideas which we have of any absent 
object of perception. In their ordinary form they have 
already been considered in a former part of this Work. 
(See chapter viii., part i.) But they are found to vary 
in degree of strength; and hence, when they are at the 
highest intensity of which they are susceptible, they may 
be denominated vivified or excited conceptions. They 
are otherwise called, particularly when they have their 
origin in the sense of sight, apparitions. 

Apparitions, therefore, are appearances, which seem to 
be external and real, but which, in truth, have merely an 
interior or subjective existence; they are merely vivid or 
excited conceptions. Accordingly, there may be appari¬ 
tions, not only of angels and departed spirits, which ap¬ 
pear to figure more largely in the history of apparitions 
than other objects of sight; but of landscapes, mountains, 
rivers, precipices, festivals, armies, funeral processions, 
temples; in a word, of all visual perceptions which we 
are capable of recalling.—Although there are excited 
conceptions both of the hearing and the touch, and some¬ 
times, though less frequently, of the other senses, which 
succeed in reaching and controlling our belief with unreal 
intimations, those of the sight, in consequence of the 
great importance of that organ and the frequency of the 
deceptions connected with it, claim especial attention. 

$ 218. Of the less permanent excited conceptions of sight. 

Excited conceptions, which are not permanent, but 


(i.) EXCITED CONCEPTIONS OR APPARITIONS. 233 

have merely a momentary, although a distinct and real 
:■ existence, are not uncommon. In explanation of these, 
there are two things to be noticed.—(I.) They are some¬ 
times the result of the natural and ordinary exercise of 
that power of forming conceptions, which all persons pos¬ 
sess in a greater or less degree. We notice them partic¬ 
ularly in children, in whom the conceptive or imaginative 
power, so far as it is employed in giving existence to cre¬ 
ations that have outline and form, is generally more ac¬ 
tive than in later life. Children, it is well known, are 
almost constantly projecting their inward conceptions into 
outward space, and erecting the fanciful creations of the 
mind amid the realities and forms of matter, beholding 
houses, men, towers, flocks of sheep, clusters of trees, and 
varieties of landscape in the changing clouds, in the 
wreathed and driven snow, in the fairy-work of frost, 
and in the embers and flickering flames of the hearth. 
This at least was the experience of the early life of Cow- 
per, who has made it the subject of a fine passage in the 
poem of the Task. 

“ Me oft has fancy, ludicrous and wild, 

Soothed with a waking dream of houses, towers, 

Trees, churches, and strange visages expressed 
In the red cinders, while, with poring eye, 

I gazed, myself creating what I saw.” 

Beattie too, after the termination of a winter’s storm, 
places his young Minstrel on the shores of the Atlantic, 
to view the heavy clouds that skirt the distant horizon: 

« Where mid the changeful scenery ever new, 

Fancy a thousand wondrous forms descries, 

More wildly great than ever pencil drew, 

Rocks, torrent, gulfs, and shapes of giant size, 

And glittering cliffs on cliffs, and fiery ramparts rise.” 

(II.) Again, excited conceptions, which are not per¬ 
manent, are frequently called into existence in connexion 
with some anxiety and grief of mind, or some other mod¬ 
ification of mental excitement. A person, for instance, 
standing on the seashore, and anxiously expecting the 
approach of his vessel, will sometimes see the image of 
it, and will be certain, for the moment, that he has the 
object of his anticipations in view, although, in truth, there 



234 DISORDERED INTELLECTUAL ACTION. 

is no vessel in sight. That is to say, the conception, 
idea, or image of the vessel, which it is evidently in the 
power of every one to form who has previously seen one, 
is rendered so intense by feelings of anxiety, as to be the 
same in effect as if the real object were present, and the 
figure of it were actually pictured on the retina.—It is in 
connexion with this view that we may probably explain 
a remark in the narrative of Mrs. Howe’s captivity, who 
in 1775 was taken prisoner, together with her seven 
children, by the St. Francois Indians. In the course of 
her captivity, she was at a certain time informed by the 
Indians that two of her children were no more ; one hav¬ 
ing died a natural death, and the other being knocked on 
the head. “ I did not utter many words,” says the mother, 
“ but my heart was sorely pained within me, and my 
mind exceedingly troubled with strange and awful ideas , 
[meaning conceptions, or images.] I often imagined, for 
instance, that I plainly saw the naked carcasses of my 
children hanging upon the limbs of trees, as the Indians 
are wont to hang the raw hides of those beasts which 
they take in hunting.” 

$ 219. Of the less permanent excited conceptions of sound. 

In regard to excited conceptions of sound, (we may 
remark incidentally, as we intend to confine ourselves 
chiefly to those of sight,) they are not, as was seen in a 
former part of this Work, (§ 60,) so easily called into 
existence, and so vivid, as visual conceptions. Conse¬ 
quently, we have grounds for making a distinction, and for 
saying that only one of the remarks made in reference 
to the less permanent excited conceptions of sight will 
apply to those of sound. In other words, excited con¬ 
ceptions of sound (those which appear and depart sud¬ 
denly, without any permanent inconvenience to the sub¬ 
ject of them) originate in connexion with a greater or 
less degree of mental excitement.—Persons, for instance, 
sitting alone in a room, are sometimes interrupted by the 
supposed hearing of a voice, which calls to them. But, 
in truth, it is only their own internal conception of that 
particular sound, which, in consequence of some peculiar 
mental state, happens at the moment to be so distinct, as 


(i.) excited conceptions or apparitions. 235 

to control their belief and impose itself upon them for a 
reality. This is probably the whole mystery of what 
Boswell has related as a singular incident in the life of 
Dr. Johnson, that while at Oxford he distinctly heard his 
mother call him by his given name, although she was at 
the very time in Litchfield.—The same principle explains 
also what is related of Napoleon. Previously to his Rus¬ 
sian expedition, he was frequently discovered half recli¬ 
ned on a sofa, where he remained several hours, plunged 
in profound meditation. Sometimes he started up con¬ 
vulsively, and with an ejaculation. Fancying he heard 
his name, he would exclaim, Who calls me 1 These are 
the sounds, susceptible of being heard at any time in the 
desert air, which started Robinson Crusoe from his sleep, 
when there was no one on his solitary island but himself: 

u The airy tongues, that syllable men’s names, 

On shores, in desert sands, and wildernesses.” 

$ 220. First cause of permanently vivid conceptions,or apparitions. 

Morbid sensibility of the retina of the eye. 

We have been led to see, particularly in a former 
chapter, (§ 64,) as well as in the preceding part of this, 
that our conceptions or renovated ideas may be so vivid 
as to affect our belief for a short time hardly less power¬ 
fully than the original perceptions. But as in the cases 
referred to there was not supposed to be an unsound or 
disordered state of the body, this extreme vividness of 
conception was exceedingly transitory. There are other 
cases of a comparatively permanent character, which are 
deserving of a more particular notice in the history of 
our mental nature. These last always imply a disor¬ 
dered state of the body, which we were led to see in the 
last chapter is often attended with very marked effects on 
the mind. 

In attempting to give an explanation of the origin of 
permanently vivid conceptions, the first ground or cause 
of them which we shall notice is an unnatural and mor¬ 
bid sensibility of the retina of the eye, either the whole 
of the retina or only a part. This cause, it is true, is in 
some degree conjectural, in consequence of the retina 
being so situated as to render it difficult to make it a sub- 




236 DISORDERED INTELLECTUAL ACTION. 

ject of observation and experiment. But knowing, as we 
do, that the nervous system generally is liable to be dis¬ 
eased, and that the disease of a particular portion is com¬ 
monly productive of results having relation to the object 
or uses of that portion, we may for this reason, as well as 
for what we know directly and positively of the occasion¬ 
ally disordered affections of the optic nerve, give it a 
place in the explanations of the subject before us. In 
order to understand the applicability of this cause of per¬ 
manently vivid conceptions or apparitions, it is necessary 
to keep in mind, that, in conceptions of visible objects, 
there is probably always a slight sympathetic affection of 
the retina of the eye, analogous to what exists when the 
visible object is actually present. In a perfectly healthy 
state of the body, including the organ of visual sense, 
this affection of the retina is of course very slight. But, 
under the influence of a morbid sensibility, the mere con¬ 
ceptions of the mind may at times impart such an increas¬ 
ed activity to the whole or a part of the retina, as to give 
existence to visual or spectral illusions. 

There is an account given in a foreign Medical Journal 
(the Medico-chirurgical Repertory of Piedmont) of a 
young lady, who attended for the first time the music of 
an orchestra, with which she was exceedingly pleased. 
She continued to hear the sounds distinctly and in their 
order for weeks and months afterward, till her whole 
system becoming disordered in consequence of it, she 
died. Now we naturally suppose, in this case, that the 
nerve of the tympanum of the ear, which, both in a physi¬ 
ological point of view and in its relation to the mind, 
corresponds to the retina of the eye, continued actually 
to vibrate or reverberate with the sound, although she 
was no longer within hearing of it. In other words, it 
was diseased; it had become morbidly sensitive, and in 
this state was a source of action to itself, independently 
of any outward cause. And as the mental state or sensa¬ 
tion of sound depends upon the actual condition of the 
auditory nerve, independently of the outward causes which 
may have been instrumental in producing that particular 
condition, we see how the sounds, which she at first heard 
for a few hours, continued for a number of months after 


(i.) EXCITED CONCEPTIONS OR APPARITIONS. 237 

to be generated and repeated.—And so in regard to the 
optic nerve. It may be so morbidly sensitive, that the 
mere conception of a man or of some other visible object 
may affect it as really and in the same way as if the 
man were actually present to the sight. And if so, the 
individual who is subject to this morbid affection has the 
power in himself of originating and sustaining the repre¬ 
sentation or pictures of objects, although no such objects 
j are present. In other words, as these results depend upon 
! the state of his physical system and not upon volition, he 
is properly saiu to be subject to Apparitions.- 1 -We will 
only add, in confirmation of what has been said, that in 
one of the most interesting cases of spectral illusions or 
apparitions which has been published, the person who 
was the subject of them expressly states, that for some 
hours preceding their occurrence she had a peculiar feel¬ 
ing in the eyes, which was relieved as soon as they had 
passed away.* 

§ 221. Second cause of permanently excited conceptions or apparitions. 

Neglect of periodical blood-letting. 

But there are other causes of the mental states under 
consideration, which, in some respects at least, are not so 
closely and exclusively connected with the eye. One is 
the neglect of periodical blood-letting. The doctrine, 
that permanently excited conceptions or apparitions are 
attendant on a superabundance of blood, occasioned by 
this neglect, seems to be illustrated and confirmed by the 
actual and recorded experience of various individuals, as 
in the following instance. 

Nicolai, the name of the individual to whom the state¬ 
ments here given relate, was an inhabitant of Berlin, a 
celebrated bookseller, and naturally a person of a very 
vivid imagination. He was neither an ignorant man, nor 
superstitious; a fact which some undoubtedly will esteem 
it important to know. The following account of the ap¬ 
paritions which appeared to him is given in his own 
•words.—“My wife and another person came into my 
apartment in the morning, in order to console me, but I 
was too much agitated by a series of incidents, which had 
* Brewster’s Natural Magic, letter iii. 




238 DISORDERED INTELLECTUAL ACTION. 

most powerfully affected my moral feeling, to be capable 
of attending to them. On a sudden I perceived, at about 
the distance of ten steps, a form like that of a deceased 
person. I pointed at it, asking my wife if she did not see 
it. It was but natural that she should not see anything; 
my question, therefore, alarmed her very much, and she 
immediately sent for a physician. The phantom continued 
about eight minutes. I grew at length more calm, and, 
being extremely exhausted, fell into a restless sleep, which 
lasted about half an hour. The physician ascribed the 
apparition to a violent mental emotion, and hoped there 
would be no return; but the violent agitation of my mind 
had in some way disordered my nerves, and produced 
further consequences, which deserve a more minute de¬ 
scription. 

“ At four in the afternoon, the form which I had seen 
in the morning reappeared. I was by myself when this 
happened, and, being rather uneasy at the incident, went 
to my wife’s apartment, but there likewise I was persecu¬ 
ted by the apparition, which, however, at intervals disap¬ 
peared, and always presented itself in a standing posture. 
About six o’clock there appeared also several walking 
figures, which had no connexion with the first. After the 
first day the form of the deceased person no more appear¬ 
ed, but its place was supplied with many other phantasms, 
sometimes representing acquaintances, but mostly stran¬ 
gers ; those whom I knew were composed of living and 
deceased persons, but the number of the latter was com¬ 
paratively small. I observed the persons with whom I 
daily conversed did not appear as phantasms, these repre¬ 
senting chiefly persons who lived at some distance from me. 

“ These phantasms seemed equally clear and distinct at 
all times and under all circumstances, both when I was 
by myself and when I was in company, as well in the day 
as at night, and in my own house as well as abroad; 
they were, however, less frequent when I was in the 
house of a friend, and rarely appeared to me in the street. 
When I shut my eyes, these phantasms would sometimes 
vanish entirely, though there were instances when I be¬ 
held them with my eyes closed, yet, when they disap¬ 
peared on such occasions, they generally returned when 


(lJ) EXCJTED CONCEPTIONS OR APPARITIONS. 239 

I opened my eyes. I conversed sometimes with my phy¬ 
sician and my wife of the phantasms which at the moment 
surrounded me; they appeared more frequently walking 
than at rest, nor were they constantly present. They fre¬ 
quently did not come for some time, but always reap¬ 
peared lor a longer or shorter period, either singly or in 
company, the latter, however, being most frequently the 
case. I generally saw human forms of both sexes, but 
they usually seemed not to take the smallest notice of 
each other, moving as in a market-place, where all are 
eager to press through the crowd; at times, however, 
they seemed to be transacting business with each other. 

I also saw, several times, people on horseback, dogs, and 
birds. All these phantasms appeared to me in their nat¬ 
ural size, and as distinct as if alive, exhibiting different 
shades of carnation in the uncovered parts, as well as dif¬ 
ferent colours and fashions in their dresses, though the 
colours seemed somewhat paler than in real nature. None 
of the figures appeared particularly terrible, comical, or 
disgusting, most of them being of an indifferent shape, 
and some presenting a pleasing aspect. The longer these 
phantoms continued to visit me, the more frequently did 
they return, while, at the same time, they increased in 
number about four weeks after they had first appeared. 
I also began to hear them talk; these phantoms some¬ 
times conversed among themselves, but more frequently 
addressed their discourse to me; their speeches were com¬ 
monly short, and never of an unpleasant turn. At differ¬ 
ent times there appeared to me both dear and sensible 
friends of both sexes, whose addresses tended to appease 
my grief, which had not yet wholly subsided: their con¬ 
solatory speeches were, in general, addressed to me when 
I was alone. Sometimes, however, I was accosted by 
these consoling friends while I was engaged in company, 
and not unfrequently while real persons were speaking to 
me. These consolatory addresses consisted sometimes of 
abrupt phrases, and at other times they were regularly 
executed.” 

$ 222. Methods of relief adopted in this case. 

These are the leading facts in this case, so far as the 





240 


DISORDERED INTELLECTUAL ACTION. 


mere appearance of the apparitions is concerned. But as 
Nicolai, besides possessing no small amount of acquired 
knowledge, was a person of a naturally philosophic turn 
of mind, he was able to detect and to assign the true 
cause of his mental malady.—He was, it is to be remem¬ 
bered, in the first place, a person of very vivid fancy, and 
hence his mind was the more likely to be affected by any 
disease of the body. A number of years before the oc¬ 
currences above related, he had been subject to a violent 
vertigo, which had been cured by means of leeches; it 
was his custom to lose blood twice a year, but previously 
to the present attack, this evacuation had been neglected. 
Supposing, therefore, that a mental disorder might arise 
from a superabundance of blood and some irregularity in 
the circulation, he again resorted to the application of 
leeches. When the leeches were applied, no person was 
with him besides the surgeon; but, during the operation, 
his chamber was crowded with human phantasms of all 
descriptions. In the course of a few hours, however, they 
moved around the chamber more slowly; their colour 
began to fade, until, growing more and more obscure, 
they at last dissolved into air, and he ceased to be troubled 
with them afterward.* 

§ 223. Third cause of excited conceptions. Attacks of fever. 

In violent attacks of fever there are sometimes excited 
conceptions, particularly those which have their origin in 
the sense of sight, and are known, by way of distinction, 
under the name of Apparitions. The conceptions which 
the sick person has, become increased in vividness, until 
the mind, seeming to project its own creations into the 
exterior space, peoples the room with living and moving 
phantoms. There is a statement illustrative of this view 
in the fifteenth volume of Nicholson’s Philosophical Jour¬ 
nal, a part of which will be here repeated. The fever in 
this instance, of which an account is given by the patient 
himself, was of a violent character, originating in some 
deep-seated inflammation, and at first affecting the mem¬ 
ory, although not permanently. 

* Memoir on the appearance of Spectres or Phantoms occasioned by 
Disease, with Psychological Remarks, read by Nicolai to the Royal So¬ 
ciety of Berlin on the 28th of February, 1799; as quoted by Hibbert, 
pt. i., ch. i. J 1 


(i.) EXCITED CONCEPTIONS OR APPARITIONS. 241 

“ Being perfectly awake,” says this person, “ in full 
possession of memory, reason, and calmness, conversing 
with those around me, and seeing, without difficulty or 
impediment, every surrounding object, I was entertained 
and delighted with a succession of faces, over which I 
had no control, either as to their appearance, continuance, 
or remoyal. 

“ They appeared directly before me, one at a time, very 
suddenly, yet not so much so but that a second of time 
might be employed in the emergence of each, as if 
through a cloud or mist, to its perfect clearness. In this 
state each face continued five or six seconds, and then 
vanished, by becoming gradually fainter during about two 
seconds, till nothing was left but a dark opaque mist, in 
which almost immediately afterward appeared another 
face. All these faces were in the highest degree interest¬ 
ing to me for beauty of form, and for the variety of ex¬ 
pression they manifested of every great and amiable emo¬ 
tion of the human mind. Though their attention was 
invariably directed to me, and none of them seemed to 
speak, yet I seemed to read the very soul which gave an¬ 
imation to their lovely and intelligent countenances. Ad¬ 
miration and a sentiment of joy and affection when each 
face appeared, and regret upon its disappearance, kept my 
mind constantly riveted to the visions before it; and this 
state was interrupted only when an intercourse with the 
persons in the room was proposed or urged,” &c.—The ap¬ 
paritions which this person experienced were not limited to 
phantasms of the human countenance; he also saw phan¬ 
tasms of books, and of parchment and papers contain¬ 
ing printed matter. Nor were these effects exclusive¬ 
ly confined to ideas received from the sense of sight; at 
one time he seemed to himself to hear musical sounds. 
That is/ his conceptions of sound were so exceedingly 
vivid, it was in effect the same as if he had really heard 
melodious voices and instruments. 

$ 224 . Fourth cause of apparitions and other excited conceptions. In¬ 
flammation of the brain. 

Apparitions, and excited conceptions in general, exist, 
in the fourth place, in consequence of inflammations and 






242 DISORDERED INTELLECTUAL ACTION. 

other diseases of the brain.—We may infer, from certain 
passages which are found in his writings, that Shakspeare 
had some correct notions of the influence of a disordered 
condition of the brain on the mental operations. We al¬ 
lude, among others, to the passage where, in explanation 
of the apparition of the dagger which appeared to Mac¬ 
beth, he says, 

“ A dagger of the mind, a false creation, 

Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain.” 

Whether the seat, or appropriate and peculiar residence 
of the soul, be in the brain or not, it seems .to be certain, 
that this part of the bodily system is connected, in a very 
intimate and high degree, with the exercises of the mind; 
particularly with perception and volition. Whenever, 
therefore, the brain is disordered, whether by a contusion 
or by a removal of part of it, by inflammation or in oth¬ 
er ways, the mind will in general be affected in a greater 
or less degree.—It may indeed be said, that the immedi¬ 
ate connexion, in the cases which we now have reference 
to, is not between the mind and the substance of the 
brain, but between the mind and the blood which is 
thrown into that part of the system. It is, no doubt, some¬ 
thing in favour of this notion, that so large a portion of 
the sanguineous fluid finds a circulation there; it being a 
common idea among anatomists, that at least one tenth 
of all the blood is immediately sent from the heart into 
the brain, although the latter is in weight only about the 
fortieth part of the whole body. It is to be considered 
also, that the effects which are wrought upon the mind 
by the nitrous oxide and the febrile miasma gas are caus¬ 
ed by an intermediate influence on the blood. On the 
other hand, it may be said that there cannot be a great ac¬ 
celeration of the blood’s motion or increase of its volume, 
without a very sensible effect on the cerebral substance. 
And, therefore, it may remain true, that very much may 
be justly attributed to the increase of quantity and motion 
in the blood, and still the brain be the proximate cause of 
alterations in the states of the mind. 

$ 225. Facts having relation to the 4th cause of excited conceptions. 

But here we stand in need of facts, as in all other parts 


(i.) EXCITED CONCEPTIONS OR APPARITIONS. 243 

of this investigation. The following statement, selected 
( from a number of others not less authenticated, can be 
relied on.*—A citizen of Kingston-on-Hull had a quar¬ 
rel with a drunken soldier, who attempted to enter his 
house by force at an unseasonable hour. In this struggle 
the soldier drew his bayonet, and, striking him across the 
temples, divided the temporal artery. He had scarcely re¬ 
covered from the effects of a great loss of blood on this 
occasion, when he undertook to accompany a friend in 
his walking-match against time, in which he went forty- 
two miles in nine hours. He was elated by his success, 
and spent the whole of the following day in drinking, &c. 

The result of these things was an affection, probably 
an inflammation, of the brain. And the consequence of 
this was the existence of those vivid states of mind which 
are termed apparitions. Accordingly, our shopkeeper 
(for that was the calling of this person) is reported to 
have seen articles of sale upon the floor, and to have be¬ 
held an armed soldier entering his shop, when there was 
nothing seen by other persons present. In a word, he 
was for some time constantly haunted by a variety of 
spectres or imaginary appearances so much so, that he 
even found it difficult to determine which were real cus¬ 
tomers and which were mere phantasms of his own mind. 
The remedy in this case was blood-letting, and some oth¬ 
er’methods of cure which are practised in inflammations 
of the brain. The restoration of the mind to a less in¬ 
tense and more correct action was simultaneous with that 
of the physical system. 

§ 226. Fifth cause of apparitions. Hysteria. 

It is further to be observed, that people are not unfre- 
quently affected with apparitions in the paroxysms of the 
disease known as hysteria or hysterics.—For the nature 
of this disease, which exists under a variety of forms, and 
is of a character so peculiar as to preclude any adequate 
description in the narrow limits we could properly allot 
to it, the reader is referred to such books as treat of med¬ 
ical subjects. This singular disease powerfully agitates 
the mind; and its effects are as various as they are stri- 
* See the Edinburgh Medical and Surgical Journal, vol. vi., p. 288. 


244 


DISORDERED INTELLECTUAL ACTION. 


king. When the convulsive affections come on, the pa¬ 
tient is observed to laugh and cry alternately, and alto¬ 
gether without any cause of a rational or moral nature; 
so that he has almost the appearance of fatuity, or of be¬ 
ing delirious. But apparitions or intensely vivid concep¬ 
tions are among its most striking attendants. The sub¬ 
jects of it distinctly see every description of forms; trees, 
houses, men, women, dogs, and other inferior animals, 
balls of fire, celestial beings, &c. We can, without doubt, 
safely refer to the experience of those who have been 
much conversant with instances of this disease, in confir¬ 
mation of this. 

The existence of the states of mind under considera¬ 
tion might, without much question, be found, on further 
examination, to connect itself with other forms of disease. 
The subject is certainly worthy, whether considered in 
relation to science or to human happiness, of such further 
developements as it is capable of receiving. 


CHAPTER XV. 

DISORDERED INTELLECTUAL ACTION. 

(il.) INSANITY. 

§ 227. Meaning of the term insanity. 

In illustration of the general subject of disordered in¬ 
tellectual action, we proceed, in the next place, to the 
consideration of that more decided internal mental de¬ 
rangement which h known as insanity. The term Insan¬ 
ity, etymologically considered, indicates simply a want of 
soundness or want of health. In its application to the 
mind, it indicates an unsound or disordered state of the 
mental action; generally, however, of a more decided 
and deeply seated nature than that form of disordered in¬ 
tellect which has already been considered under the head 
of apparitions. 

As the mind is complicated in its structure, existing, as 
it were, in various departments and subdivisions of depart- 



245 


(il.) INSANITY. 

ments, the disordered action, which we now propose to 
consider, may pervade either the whole mind, or exist ex¬ 
clusively in some one of its departments. Accordingly, 
Insanity may be regarded either as partial or total; in¬ 
volving either the whole mind, or only a part. The 
method which we propose to pursue in the investigation 
of the subject, is to consider it in connexion with the 
powers of the mind separately, as affording, on the whole, 
the most satisfactory view. And it is proper to add here, 
that we examine it at present only so far as it may nat¬ 
urally be supposed to exist in connexion with the Intel¬ 
lect, leaving the consideration of it, as it is occasionally 
found to exist in the Sensibilities, to a more appropriate 
place. 

§ 228. Of disordered or alienated sensations. 

Beginning with the External Intellect, the power which 
first presents itself to our notice is Sensation. It is well 
known that all the outward senses are liable to be disor¬ 
dered, and, as the inward sensation corresponds to the 
condition of the outward or bodily organ, a disordered or 
irregular movement of the organ of sense necessarily com¬ 
municates itself to the inward or mental state. A regular 
or healthy sensation always has reference to some out¬ 
ward cause, (we mean here outward, even in reference to 
the organ of sense,) but a disease in the bodily organ dis¬ 
turbs this relation, and necessarily gives to the inward 
mental state the character, as compared with other sensa¬ 
tions, of being unreal, visionary, and deceptive. Not un¬ 
real and deceptive in itself, but because it intimates a re¬ 
lation which is obliterated, and tends to force upon our 
belief an outward cause which has no existence. 

There are diseased or disordered visual sensations, ex¬ 
isting in connexion with a morbid condition of the visual 
organ; but as this view of the subject was necessarily in¬ 
volved, in some degree, in what has already been said on 
the subject of excited conceptions or Apparitions, it is not 
necessary to enlarge upon it here. There are also diseas¬ 
ed or disordered sensations of touch. A single instance, 
out of multitudes like it, will serve both to illustrate and 
to confirm the remark. In the Natural Magic of Dr. 




246 


DISORDERED INTELLECTUAL ACTION. 


Brewster is an account of a lady (the case which we have 
already had occasion to refer to) who was subject to spec¬ 
tral illusions, of whom it is expressly said, in connexion 
with her remarkable mental affections, that she possesses 
“ a naturally morbid imagination, so strongly affecting 
her corporeal impressions, that the story of any person 
having suffered severe pain by accident or otherwise will 
occasionally produce acute twinges in the corresponding 
part of her person. An account, for instance, of the am¬ 
putation of an arm, will produce an instantaneous and se¬ 
vere sense of pain in her own arm.” There are also (and 
we might apply the statement to all the senses without 
exception) diseased or disordered sensations of hearing. 
The celebrated Mendelsohn was frequently subject to the 
attacks of a violent species of catalepsis. And it hap¬ 
pened, if he had recently heard any lively conversation, 
a loud voice apparently repeated to him, while in the fit, 
the particular words, which had been distinguished from 
others by being pronounced with an emphatic and raised 
tone of voice, and “ in such a manner that his ear rever¬ 
berated with the sound.” 

§ 229. Of disordered or alienated external perception. 

We naturally proceed from sensation to a power closely 
connected with it, that of External Perception. Indeed, 
what has been said of sensation will apply, in a consider¬ 
able degree, to the last-mentioned power, because sensa¬ 
tion naturally precedes perception, and is always involved 
in it. But perception, while it involves sensation, implies 
also something more, something additional; it involves 
the reference of the inward mental state to the outward 
cause or object, and not unfrequently implies also acts of 
comparison, by which it distinguishes one cause from an¬ 
other. And particularly is this the case in respect to those 
perceptions which are designated as acquired perceptions, 
in order to distinguish them from original. So that, in 
view of what has been said, it would seem to be the fact, 
in the first place, that, when our sensations are disorder¬ 
ed, our perceptions will be so likewise. But this is not 
all. In consequence of some interior cause, such as an 
inability to attend to a thing for any length of time, or , 


247 


(il.) INSANITY. 

incapacity of instituting comparisons, disordered and false 
external perceptions will sometimes exist when there ap¬ 
pears to be no unsoundness in the sensations. 

Agreeably to these views, we find that persons, in whom 
the power of external perception is disordered from the 
first of the two causes just referred to, sometimes have 
perceptions of colour which do not accord w r ith those of 
mankind generally, being entirely unable, for instance, to 
distinguish blue from green. Other persons, again, have 
no distinct perception of minute sounds, and take no more 
pleasure in the harmonies of a musical composition of 
truly great merit, than they do in the most discordant 
screams. When the disordered action of the perceptive 
power originates from the second cause, the subjects of it 
are apt to confound times, persons, and places. They 
mistake, for instance, their friends and relations for oth¬ 
ers, and are at a loss as to the place where they are, al¬ 
though they may have been in it hundreds of times before. 
They exhibit particularly this species of alienated percep¬ 
tion when they attempt to read a book. They no doubt 
see the letters no less than others, but the action of the 
mind, in other respects, not being such as to permit them 
to dwell upon them, and compare and combine them into 
words, they are unable to read; it is, at least, exceedingly 
difficult. 

$ 230. Disordered state or insanity of original suggestion. 

When we pass from the ExternaMo the Internal intel¬ 
lect, from the region of sensation and external perception 
to the interior domain of Original Suggestion, to the con¬ 
victions involved in Consciousness, to the important pow¬ 
ers of Relative Suggestion, Memory, and Reasoning, we 
are introduced, indeed, to a higher order of mental action, 
but we find no exemption from those disorders to which 
the human mind, in all its great departments, is occasion¬ 
ally exposed.—In regard to Original Suggestion, which 
comes first in order, a power which deals with original 
ideas and principles merely, without professing to ascer¬ 
tain the relations existing among them, it must be admit¬ 
ted that it does not give so frequent and decided indica¬ 
tions of disordered action as we find elsewhere. Never- 




248 DISORDERED INTELLECTUAL ACTION. 

theless, this is sometimes the case. The conviction, for 
instance, not only that we exist, but that we have per¬ 
sonal identity; that we are now what we have been in 
times past in all that constitutes us rational and account¬ 
able beings, is obviously essential to a sound mind. But 
this elementary and important conviction, which obviously 
does not rest upon judgment nor the deductions of rea¬ 
soning, but upon the higher basis of original suggestion, 
is sometimes annulled, either in whole or in part. To 
this head, so far as the conviction of the identity of the 
mind is concerned, we may refer the interesting case of 
the Rev. Simon Browne, an English clergyman, who fully 
believed, for many years before his death, that he had 
entirely lost his rational part or soul, and was the pos¬ 
sessor merely of a corporeal or animal life, such as is pos¬ 
sessed by the brutes. He was a man of marked ability, 
both in conversation and writing; and this, too, on all 
subjects not connected with his malady, after his partial 
alienation. But so entirely was he convinced of the ab¬ 
sence, and of the probably actual extinction of his soul, 
that, in a valuable work which he dedicated to the Queen 
of England, he speaks of it in the dedication as the work 
of one who “ was once a man; of some little name; but 
of no worth, as his present unparalleled case makes but too 
manifest; for, by the immediate hand of an avenging 
God, his very thinking substance has, for more than sev¬ 
enteen years, been gradually wasting away, till it is wholly 
perished out of him, if it be not utterly come to nothing.”* 

$ 231. Unsoundness or insanity of consciousness. 

The basis of the various convictions or judgments of 
Consciousness, as that term is defined and ‘illustrated by 
writers, is the antecedent idea and belief of personal iden¬ 
tity. If this last conviction, therefore, be lost, as in the 
case mentioned in the last section, all that is involved in 
Consciousness goes with it. It is the business of Con¬ 
sciousness to connect the acts of the mind with the mind 
itself; to consolidate them, as it were, into one. But if, 
in our full belief, our mind is destroyed; if self or person¬ 
ality is obliterated, then it is clearly no longer within the 
* Conolly’s Indications of Insanity, ch. x. 


249 


(n.) INSANITY. 

power of consciousness to recognise our various acts of 
perception and reasoning as having a home and agency 
in our own bosoms. Self is destroyed; and the mental 
acts which are appropriate to self are mere entities, float¬ 
ing about, as it were, in the vacuities of space, without 
the possibility of being assigned to any locality or ascri¬ 
bed to any cause. The instance, therefore, mentioned in 
the preceding section, which may be regarded as of a 
mixed kind, (that is to say, showing a perplexed action, 
both of Original Suggestion and Consciousness,) will serve 
to illustrate what is said here.—Another instance, not less 
striking, is that of a celebrated watchmaker of Paris, who 
became insane during the period of the French Revolu¬ 
tion. This man believed that he and some others had 
been beheaded, but that the heads were subsequently or¬ 
dered to be restored to the original owners. Some mis¬ 
take, however, as the insane person conceived, was com¬ 
mitted in the process of restoration, in consequence of 
which he had unfortunately been furnished with the head 
of one of his companions instead of his own. He was 
admitted into the hospital Bicetre, “ where he was con¬ 
tinually complaining of his misfortune, and lamenting the 
fine teeth and wholesome breath he had exchanged for 
those of very different qualities.” 

Instances also have probably, from time to time, occur¬ 
red, in which, although the conviction of personality and 
personal identity has remained, yet in the fixed belief of 
the insane person the bond of connexion between the 
mind and its powers has been dissolved; and the memory 
perhaps, or the reasoning, or the imagination, which once 
belonged to himself, has been transferred by some myste¬ 
rious agency to an intellect more favoured than his own. 

$ 232. Insanity of the judgment or relative suggestion. 

Pursuing this subject in its connexion with the powers 
of the Internal Intellect in the order in which they pre¬ 
sented themselves to our notice in the Second Part of 
this Division, and which seems to be essentially the order 
of nature, we next proceed to Relative Suggestion. The 
power of Relative Suggestion, like that of Original Sug¬ 
gestion, is exceedingly simple in its action, being limited 




250 


DISORDERED INTELLECTUAL ACTION. 


to the mere matter of perceiving relations; but it is dif* 
ferent in this respect, that while mental disorder but sel¬ 
dom reaches original suggestion, there is scarcely an in¬ 
stance of decidedly disordered intellect, in which relative 
suggestion (that is to say, judgment in its simplest form) 
is not affected in a greater or less degree. And this 
seems to be unavoidable. For relations always imply 
the existence of something else, of other objects. And 
if mistakes, in consequence of a wrong mental action in 
other respects, exist in regard to those other things, what¬ 
ever they may be, they necessarily either annul or great- 
ly perplex the results of the power by which such rela¬ 
tions are perceived.—Besides this, the power in its own 
nature, and independently of perplexities from other 
sources, is liable to be, and is in fact, sometimes disordered. 
But as this subject is closely connected with that of rea¬ 
soning, and as they reciprocally throw light upon each 
other, we shall say nothing further here. 

$ 233. Disordered or alienated association. Light-headedness. 

The laws of the mind, the great principles which reg¬ 
ulate its action, as well as its mere perceptions or states, 
may be disordered; for instance, the law of association! 
The irregular action of this important principle of our in¬ 
tellectual nature is sometimes greater, at others less. 
There is one of the slighter forms of mental alienation 
fiom this cause, which may be termed light-headedness * 
otherwise called by Pinel, demence, and by Dr. Rush’ 
dissociation. Persons subject to this mental disease are’ 
sometimes designated as “flighty,” “ hair-brained;” and 
when the indications of it are pretty decided, as a “ little 
cracked.”—Their disorder seems chiefly to consist in a 
deficiency of the ordinary power over associated ideas. 

I heir thoughts fly from one subject to another with great 
rapidity; and, consequently, one mark of this state of 
mind is great volubility of speech and almost constant 
motion of the body. This rapid succession of ideas and 
attendant volubility of tongue are generally accompanied 
with forgetfulness in a greater or less degree. And as 
the subject of this form of derangement is equally incapa¬ 
ble of checking and reflecting upon his present ideas. 


251 


(il.) INSANITY. 

and of recalling the past, he constantly forms incorrect 
judgments of things. Another mark which has been 
given is a diminished sensibility to external impressions. 

$ 234. Illustrations of this mental disorder. 

Dr. Rush, in his valuable work on the Diseases of the 
Mind, has repeated the account which an English clergy¬ 
man who visited Lavater, the physiognomist, has given 
of that singular character. It accurately illustrates this 
mental disorder.—“ 1 was detained,” says he, “ the whole 
morning by the strange, wild, eccentric Lavater, in vari¬ 
ous conversations. When once he is set agoing, there is 
no such thing as stopping him till he runs himself out of 
breath. He starts from subject to subject, flies from book 
to book, from picture to picture; measures your nose, 
your eye, your mouth, with a pair of compasses; pours 
forth a torrent of physiognomy upon you; drags you, for 
a proof of his dogma, to a dozen of closets, and unfolds 
ten thousand drawings; but will not let you open your 
lips to propose a difficulty; and crams a solution down 
your throat before you have uttered half a syllable of 
your objection. 

“ He is as meager as the picture of famine; his nose 
and chin almost meet. I read him in my turn, and found 
little difficulty in discovering, amid great genius, unaf¬ 
fected piety, unbounded benevolence, and moderate learn¬ 
ing, much caprice and unsteadiness; a mind at once as¬ 
piring by nature and grovelling through necessity; an 
endless turn to speculation and project; in a word, a 
clever, flighty, good-natured, necessitous man.” 

6 235. Of partial insanity or alienation of the memory. 

Among other exhibitions of partial insanity, using the 
terms in the manner already explained, we may include 
some of the more striking instances of weakened and 
disordered memory. Every other part of the intellect 
may be sound and regular in its action, (for it will be rec¬ 
ollected that we confine ourselves here to the disorders 
of the intellect, without anticipating those of the Sen¬ 
sibilities and the Will,) the powers of perception, of asso¬ 
ciation, of imagination, of reasoning, at least so far as 
they are able to act independent of the memory, while 




252 


DISORDERED INTELLECTUAL ACTION* 


the action of the latter power is either essentially obliter¬ 
ated, or is the subject of strange and unaccountable devi¬ 
ations. From the plan of this work, we are obliged to 
content ourselves with the briefest possible notices; and 
can therefore only refer to one or two instances in illustra¬ 
tion of what has been said. The instances of weakened 
and perverted memory are of three kinds; (1.) those 
where there is a general prostration, caused in various 
ways, such as grief and old age; (2.) those where there 
is a sudden and entire prostration extending to particular 
subjects, or through a particular period of time, generally 
caused by some sudden and violent affection of the body; 
and, (3.) those where there is not so much an inordinate 
weakness or obliteration of the power under considera¬ 
tion, as a singularly perverse and irregular action of it.— 
It is probably not necessary to say anything of the first 
class. Of the second class is the case mentioned by Dr. 
Beattie, of a gentleman who, in consequence of a vio¬ 
lent blow on the head, lost his knowledge of Greek, but 
did not appear to have lost anything else. Another in¬ 
stance is that mentioned by Dr. Abercrombie, of a lady 
who, in consequence of a protracted illness, lost the recol¬ 
lection of a period of about ten or twelve years; but 
spoke with perfect consistency of things as they stood 
before that time. Of the third class is the case of a man 
who always called tobacco a hogshead ; and of another 
man who, when he wanted coals put upon his fire, always 
called for paper, and when he wanted paper, called for 
coals; and of another, who could not be made to under¬ 
stand the name of an object if it was spoken to him, but 
understood it perfectly when it was written. These three 
cases will be found more particularly detailed in Dr. Ab¬ 
ercrombie’s Inquiries into the Intellectual Powers. A case 
perhaps still more interesting is found in Dr. Conolly’s In¬ 
dications of Insanity, as follows: 

“ A gentleman of considerable attainments, after long- 
continued attention to various subjects, found himself in¬ 
capable of writing what he sat down to write; and, wish¬ 
ing to write a check, could get no farther than the first 
two words; he found that he wrote what he did not 
mean to write, but by no effort could he write what he 


253 


(il.) INSANITY. 

intended. This impairment of his memory and attention 
* lasted about half an hour, during which time his exter¬ 
nal senses were not impaired, but the only ideas which 
he had were such as the imagination dictated, without 
; order and without object. He knew also, during this 
time, that when he spoke, the words he uttered were not 
the words he wished to utter. When he recovered, he 
j found that in his attempt to write the check, he had, in¬ 
stead of the words ‘ fifty dollars, being one half year’s 
rate,’ put down 4 fifty dollars through the salvation of 
Bra. 5 55 

§ 236. Of the power of reasoning in the partially insane. 

It will be noticed, so far as we have gone in the ex¬ 
amination of the subject of insanity, that we have consid¬ 
ered the powers of the mind separately. Probably every 
power of the mind, but particularly those of the intellect, 
may become more or less disordered. Having considered 
! sensation, perception, original suggestion, consciousness, 
judgment, association, and memory, we propose, as com- 
: ing next in order, to examine the subject in its connexion 
with the reasoning power.—In some cases of insanity 
! there is a total inability of reasoning. There is no pow¬ 
er of attention, no power of comparison, and, of course, 
no ability in the mind to pass from the premises of an ar¬ 
gument to the conclusion. We have already had occa¬ 
sion to refer to the power of relative suggestion, by means 
of which comparisons are instituted. Whenever this pow¬ 
er is disordered and fails to perform its office, such is the 
close connexion between it and reasoning, the operations 
of the latter are disturbed also. In such cases the ina- 
' bility to reason is total; that is to say, it extends to all 
i subjects alike. But it is more frequently the case, that 
the alienation of reasoning is not so extensive, but exists 
I chiefly in relation to certain subjects, in respect to which 
the belief is affected. When the train of reasoning leads 
the person within the range of those particular subjects, 
whatever they are, we at once discover that the intellect 
is disordered. And this view has led to the common re¬ 
mark, which is obviously well founded, that the more 
common form of insane or alienated reason does not con- 







254 


DISORDERED INTELLECTUAL ACTION. 


sist so much in the mode of connecting propositions, and 
in the conclusions drawn from them, as in the premises. 
The insane person believes, for instance, that he is a king. 
Accordingly, he reasons correctly in requiring for himself 
the homage suited to a king, and in expressing dissatisfac¬ 
tion on account of its being withheld; but he commits 
an essential error in the premises, which assume that he 
actually possesses that station. 

$ 237. Instance of the above form of insanity of reasoning. 

We have an instance of the form of insanity just men¬ 
tioned in the character of Don Quixote. Cervantes rep¬ 
resents the hero of his work as having his naturally good 
understanding perverted by the perusal of certain fool¬ 
ish, romantic stories, falsely purporting to be a true record 
of knights and deeds of chivalry. These books, contain¬ 
ing the history of dwarfs, giants, necromancers, and other 
preternatural extravagance, were zealously perused, until 
the head of Don Quixote was effectually turned by them. 
Although he was thus brought into a state of real men¬ 
tal derangement, it was limited to the extravagances 
which have been mentioned. We are expressly inform¬ 
ed, that, in all his conversations and replies, he gave evi¬ 
dent proofs of a most excellent understanding, and never 
“ lost the stirrups” except on the subject of chivalry. 
On this subject he “ was crazed.”—Accordingly, when 
the barber and curate visited him on a certain occasion, 
the conversation happened to turn on what are termed 
reasons of state, and on modes of administration; and 
Don Quixote spoke so well on every topic, as to convince 
them that he was quite sound, and had recovered the 
right exercise of his judgment. But something being un¬ 
advisedly said about the Turkish, war, the knight at once 
remarked, with much solemnity and seriousness, that his 
majesty had nothing to do but to issue a proclamation, 
commanding all the knights-errant in Spain to assemble 
at his court on a certain day; and, although not more 
than half a dozen should come, among these one would be 
found who would alone be sufficient to overthrow the whole 
Turkish power. 

When the subject of conversation turned upon war, 


255 


(il.) INSANITY. 

which had so near a connexion with shields, and lances, 

4 and all the associations of chivalry, it came within the 
range of his malady, and led to the absurd remark which 
! showed at once the unsoundness of his mind, notwith- 
£ standing the sobriety and good sense which he had just 
; before exhibited. 

$ 238. Partial mental alienation by means of the imagination. 

Men of sensibility and genius, by giving way to the 
suggestions of a melancholy imagination, sometimes be¬ 
come mentally disordered. Not that we are authorized 
to include these cases as among the more striking forms 
of insanity; they in general attract but little notice, al¬ 
though sources of exquisite misery to the subjects of them. 
But such are the extravagant dreams in which they in¬ 
dulge ; such are the wrong views of the character and 
actions of men, which their busy and melancholy imagi¬ 
nations are apt to form, that they cannot be reckoned 
persons of truly sound minds. These instances, which 
are not rare, it is difficult fully to describe; but their 
most distinguishing traits will be recognised in the follow¬ 
ing sketch from Madame de Stael’s Reflections on the 
Character and Writings of Rousseau. 

After remarking that he discovered no sudden emo¬ 
tions, but that his feelings grew upon reflection, and that 
he became impassioned in consequence of his own medi¬ 
tations, she adds as follows.—“ Sometimes he would part 
with you with all his former affection ; but if an expres¬ 
sion had escaped you which might bear an unfavourable 
construction, he would recollect it, examine it, exaggerate 
it, perhaps dwell upon it for a month, and conclude by a 
total breach with you. Hence it was that there was 
scarce a possibility of undeceiving him; for the light 
which broke in upon him at once was not sufficient to 
efface the wrong impressions which had taken place so 
gradually in his mind. It was extremely difficult, too, to 
continue long on an intimate footing with him. A word, 
a gesture, furnished him with matter of profound medita¬ 
tion ; he connected the most trifling circumstances like 
so many mathematical propositions, and conceived his 
conclusions to be supported by the evidence of demon¬ 
stration. 




256 DISORDERED INTELLECTUAL ACTION. 

“ I believe,” she further remarks, “ that imagination 
was the strongest of his faculties, and that it had almost 
absorbed all the rest. He dreamed rather than existed, 
and the events of his life might be said more properly to 
have passed in his mind than without him: a mode of 
being, one should have thought, that ought to have secu¬ 
red him from distrust, as it prevented him from observa¬ 
tion ; but the truth was, it did not hinder him from at¬ 
tempting to observe; it only rendered his observations er¬ 
roneous. That his soul was tender, no one can doubt after 
having read his works; but his imagination sometimes 
interposed between his reason and his affections, and de¬ 
stroyed their influence; he appeared sometimes void of 
sensibility; but it was because he did not perceive ob¬ 
jects such as they were. Had he seen them with our 
eyes, his heart would have been more affected than ours.” 

$ 239. Insanity or alienation of the power of belief. 

The action of the various intellectual powers which 
have been brought to view in this chapter, terminates in 
the causation or production of Belief. In regard to that 
particular state of the intellect which is denominated be¬ 
lief, it is obvious that, in a sound mind, it has a natural 
and determinate relation to all the various intellectual 
susceptibilities, both External and Internal. This relation 
is sometimes disturbed ; and the belief exists in a position 
altogether unsustained by the evidence which is present¬ 
ed. There are three classes of persons in whom this state 
of mind, or, in other words, the faculty or susceptibility 
of belief, if we may be permitted so to call it, appears to 
be disordered.—(1.) The first class are those who seem 
incapable of believing anything which they are required 
to receive on the testimony of others. They must see it 
with their own eyes; they must hear it, or handle it for 
themselves; they must examine it by square, rule, and 
compass. They remind one of the Savage, who complain¬ 
ed, when something was proposed for his belief, “ that it 
would not believe for him.” The causes of this singular 
inability are worthy of more inquiry than has hitherto 
been expended upon them. When it is very great, it is 
a mark of the approach or actual existence of idiocy.— 


(il.) INSANITY. 257 

(2.) There is another class of persons, who plainly show 
a derangement of this power by their readiness to be¬ 
lieve everything. No matter how incongruous or improb¬ 
able a story is, it is received at once. They take no note 
of dates, characters, and circumstances; and, as they find 
nothing too improbable to believe, they find nothing too 
strange, marvellous, and foolish to report. This state of 
mind is frequently an accompaniment of light-headed- 
ness.—(3.) There are other cases, where the alienation of 
belief is not general, but particular. There is nothing pe¬ 
culiar and disordered in its ordinary action, but only in 
respect to particular facts. That is, certain propositions, 
which are erroneous and absurd, are received by the dis¬ 
ordered persons as certain ; and nothing can convince 
them of the contrary. One believes himself to be a king; 
another, that he is the prophet Mohammed; and various 
other absurdities are received by them as undoubtedly 
true. On all other subjects they appear to be rational; 
but the alienation or insanity of belief is evident as soon 
as their cherished errors are mentioned. 

Y 2 



















- 




■ 


MENTAL PHILOSOPHY. 

m 

* \ 


DIVISION SECOND. 

THE SENSIBILITIES. 

SENTIENT OR SENSITIVE STATES OF THE MIND. 


SENTIMENTS, 

















INTRODUCTION. 

CLASSIFICATION OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 

§ 240. Reference to the general division of the whole mind. 

It will be recollected that we proposed, as the basis of 
our inquiries, the general division of the mind into the In¬ 
tellect, the Sensibilities, and the Will. These great de¬ 
partments of the mind are not only generically distinct; 
but the difference between them is so clear and marked, 
it is surprising they should have been so often confounded 
together. They are not only different in their nature, a 
fact which is clearly ascertained by Consciousness, in its 
cognizance of their respective acts, but are separated 
from each other, as all observation shows, by the relations 
which they respectively sustain. The Intellect or Under¬ 
standing comes Jirst in order, and furnishes the basis of 
action to the other great departments of the mind. It is 
this portion of the mind which we have endeavoured to 
examine, and which we are now about to leave for the 
purpose of advancing into departments of our mental na¬ 
ture, which, considered in reference to the Intellect, may 
be regarded as occupying a more remote and interior po¬ 
sition. 

$ 241. The action of the sensibilities implies that of the intellect. 

The action of the Sensibilities is subsequent in time to 
that of the Intellective nature. As a general thing, there 
is, and can be, no movement of the sensibilities ; no such 
thing as an emotion, desire, or feeling, of moral obligation, 
without an antecedent action of the intellect. If we are 
pleased or displeased, there is necessarily before the mind 
some object of pleasure or displeasure; if we exercise the 
feeling of desire, there must necessarily be some object 
desired, which is made known to us by an action of the 
intellect. So that if there were no intellect, or if the in¬ 
tellectual powers were entirely dormant and inactive, 
there would be no action of the emotive part of our na¬ 
ture and of the passions. 




262 


INTRODUCTION. 


And we may not only say, in general terms, that the 
action of the sensibilities implies the antecedent action of 
the intellect, but may even assert more specifically, (ma¬ 
king allowance for those constitutional differences which 
pervade every part of the mental structure,) that the ac¬ 
tivity of the sensibilities will be nearly in ‘proportion to 
that of the intellect. In other words, on all subjects 
which are calculated to excite any interest at all, those 
who have the broadest and most satisfactory views will 
be likely to feel more intensely than others; the sensibil¬ 
ities expanding and exerting themselves in conformity 
with the expanded and energetic action of the perceptive 
and cognitive powers. 

§ 242. Division of the sensibilities into natural or pathematic, and moral. 

As we pass onward from the percipient and cognitive 
nature to the distinct and more remote region of the emo¬ 
tions and passions, it seems proper, before we enter more 
minutely into the various inquiries which may be expect¬ 
ed to present themselves, to consider whether the depart¬ 
ment of the Sensibilities itself is not susceptible of being 
resolved into some subordinate yet important divisions. 
In accordance with this suggestion, our first remark is, 
that the Sensibilities, when subjected to a careful exam¬ 
ination, will clearly be found to separate themselves into 
the great divisions of the Natural or Pathematic, and the 
Moral. These leading departments will be found to run, 
if we may be allowed the expression, in two separate 
channels, which, although they are, for the most part, 
parallel with each other, are, nevertheless, essentially and 
sufficiently distinct; each being characterized by its own 
attributes and by its appropriate results. Our examina¬ 
tion of the Sensibilities will accordingly proceed upon 
the basis of this division. 

In reference to the use of the term Pathematic, as ap¬ 
plicable to the states of mind embraced in one of these 
great divisions, it is proper to observe, that it appears to 
have been formed from its Greek original, and first used 
by Sir James Mackintosh. He repeatedly speaks of that 
part of our nature which includes the emotions and pas¬ 
sions, as unnamed ; and, in the progress of his discussions, 





CLASSIFICATION OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 263 

appears at times to be embarrassed for the want of suit¬ 
able English words to express it. Under these circum¬ 
stances he proposes the term in question, which, in its 
etymological import, is applicable to any state of mind 
which involves emotion, desire, or passion. 

$ 243. The moral and natural sensibilities have different objects. 

The Natural and Moral Sensibilities appear to take, 
fundamentally, different views of the objects in respect to 
which they are called into exercise. The one considers 
objects chiefly as they have a relation to ourselves; the 
other, as they relate to all possible existences. The one 
looks at things in the aspect of their desirableness; the 
other fixes its eye on the sublime feature of their rectitude. 
The one asks what is good ; the other, what is right. 

Obliterate from man’s constitution his Conscience, 
(what may be called, if we may be allowed the expres¬ 
sion, the moralities of his nature,) and you at once strike 
from the mind one half of its motives to action; for, in 
respect to everything which is considered by us desirable 
to be done, the question always recurs, is it right to be 
done 1 At one time, on the supposition of an entire era¬ 
sure of the moral sensibilities, all his movements are dic¬ 
tated by the suggestions and cravings of the appetites. 
At other times, he covets knowledge, or seeks society, or 
indulges in the refinements of the arts; but it will be 
found in these instances, as well as when he is under the 
influence of the appetites, that pleasure is still his object, 
and that he is disappointed in not securing it. And even 
in his higher moods of action, when raised, in some de¬ 
gree, above the influence of the subordinate propensities, 
his movements will always be based on calculations of 
interest; and although the various suggestions which in¬ 
fluence his conduct may have an extensive range, they 
will never fail to revolve within the limits of a circle, the 
centre of which is himself. It is his moral nature, and that 
alone, which places him beyond the limits of this circle, 
and enables him, on suitable occasions, to act with exclu¬ 
sive reference to God, his fellow-men, and the universe. 




264 


INTRODUCTION. 


$ 244. The moral sensibilities higher in rank than the natural. 

And such being the objects of these two great depart¬ 
ments of our nature, it is not surprising that they do not 
hold the same place in our estimation. There is obvi- 
viously a sort of graduation in the feelings of regard and 
honour which we attach to different parts of the mind. 
We at once, as it were instinctively, regard some as higher 
than others. We may not be able always to tell why it 
is so; but such is the fact. We never hesitate, for in¬ 
stance, to assign a lower place to the instincts than to the 
appetites; and, on the other hand, we always allot to the 
appetites, in the graduation of our regard, a place below 
that of the affections. And, entirely in accordance with 
this general fact, we find it to be the case, that the moral 
sensibilities excite within us higher sentiments of regard; 
in other words, hold, in our estimation of them, a higher 
rank than the appetites, propensities, and passions, which 
constitute the leading divisions of our pathematic nature. 

The moral sensibility appears to occupy, in respect to 
the other great division of our sensitive nature, the posi¬ 
tion of a consultative and judicial power; it not only 
stands above it, and over it, in our estimation, but actu¬ 
ally is so, viz., in the exercise of a higher authority; it 
keenly scrutinizes the motives of action; it compares 
emotion with emotion, desire with desire; it sits a sort of 
arbitress, holding the scales of justice, and dispensing such 
decisions as are requisite for the due regulation of the 
empire of the passions. 

§ 245. The moral sensibilities wanting in brutes. 

It will, perhaps, throw additional light upon the dis¬ 
tinction which we assert to exist in the Sensibilities, if we 
call to recollection here that the natural or pathematic 
sensibilities exist in brute animals essentially the same as 
in man. Brute animals are susceptible of various emo¬ 
tions. They have their instincts, appetites, propensities, 
and affections, the same as human beings have, and, per¬ 
haps, even in a higher degree. They rush with eagerness 
in the pursuit of whatever is calculated to gratify their 
appetites, and are deeply interested in everything that is 
addressed to the natural affections. They are pleased 


CLASSIFICATION OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 


265 


and displeased; they have their prepossessions and aver¬ 
sions ; they love and hate with as much vehemence, at 
least, as commonly characterizes human passion. 

But if we look for the other and more elevated portion 
of the sensibilities, viz., the Moral Sensibilities, it is not 
there. And here, we apprehend, is the great ground of 
distinction between men and the brutes. The latter, as 
well as human beings, appear to understand what is good, 
considered as addressed simply to the natural affections; 
but man has the higher knowledge of moral as well as 
of natural good. The brute, as well as man, knows what 
is desirable, considered in the light of the natural appe¬ 
tites and passions; but man enjoys the infinitely higher 
prerogative of knowing what is worthy of pursuit, con¬ 
sidered in the light of moral and conscientious perceptions. 

§ 246. Classification of the natural sensibilities. 

Beginning, in the examination of the interesting subject 
before us, with the Natural or Pathematic sensibilities, we 
shall find this portion of our sensitive nature resolving it¬ 
self into the subordinate divisions of the Emotions and 
Desires. These two classes of mental states follow each 
other in the order in which they have been named; the 
Emotions first, which are exceedingly numerous and va¬ 
rious ; and then the Desires, embracing, under the latter 
term, the Appetites, Propensities, and Affections. This 
is not only the order in succession or time, but it is also 
the order in nature. 

In other words, and stated more particularly, such is 
the constitution of the human mind, that, when we pass 
from the region of the Intellect to that of the Sensibilities, 
we first find ourselves (and there is no other possible po¬ 
sition which, in the first instance, we can occupy) in the 
domain of the emotions. We are at first pleased or dis¬ 
pleased, or have some other emotion in view of the thing, 
whatever it is, which has come under the cognizance of 
the intellect. And emotions, in the ordinary process of 
mental action, are followed by Desires. As we cannot 
be pleased or displeased without some antecedent percep¬ 
tion or knowledge of the thing which we are pleased or 
displeased with, so we cannot desire to possess or avoid 






266 


INTRODUCTION. 


anything, without having laid the foundation of such de¬ 
sire in the existence of some antecedent emotion. And 
this is not only the matter of fapt which, as the mind is 
actually constituted, is presented to our notice, but we 
cannot well conceive how it could be otherwise. To de¬ 
sire a thing which utterly fails to excite within us the 
least emotion of pleasure, seems to be a sort of solecism 
or absurdity in nature; in other words, it seems to be im¬ 
possible, from the nature of things, under any conceivable 
circumstances. At any rate, it is not possible, as the mind 
is actually constituted, whatever might have been the fact 
if the mind had been constituted differently. 

$ 247. Classification of the moral sensibilities. 

If we look at the conscientious or Moral sensibilities, 
we find that they divide themselves in a manner entirely * 
analogous to the division which is found to exist in the 
Natural. The first class of mental states which presents 
itself to our notice under this general head, is that of 
moral Emotions; corresponding in the place which they 
occupy in relation to the Intellect, as well as in some 
other respects, to the natural emotions. The moral emo¬ 
tions are followed by another class of moral feelings, which 
may be designated as Obligatory feelings, or feelings of 
moral obligation; which hold the same relation to the 
moral emotions which the Desires do to the natural emo¬ 
tions. If we had not moral emotions, (that is to say, feel¬ 
ings of moral approval and disapproval,) it would not be 
possible for us to feel under mor r al obligation in any case 
whatever; the latter state of the mind being obviously 
dependent on the former.—It will be noticed, that in this ' 
place we scarcely do more than simply state the fact of 
this subordinate classification, without entering into minute , 
explanations. The precise relation which the two de¬ 
partments of our moral nature sustain to each other will 
be more fully stated and clearly understood, when, in their 
proper place, they come particularly under examination. 





PART FIRST. 

NATURAL OR PATHEMATIC SENSIBILITIES. 


NATURAL OR PATHEMATIC SENTIMENTS. 


CLASS FIRST. 


EMOTIONS OR EMOTIVE STATES OF THE MIND. 






















































- 














- 

I 




















m .. 


































CHAPTER 1. 


NATURE OF THE EMOTIONS. 

$ 248. We have a knowledge of emotions by consciousness. 

In prosecuting the examination of the Sensibilities, in 
accordance with the plan which has been marked out in 
the Introduction, we begin with the Emotions. It is, of 
course, implied in the arrangement we have made, which 
assigns them a distinct place, that this class of mental 
states has a nature and characteristics of its own, in vir¬ 
tue of which they are distinguished from all others. At 
the same time, it cannot be denied that it is extremely 
difficult to explain by mere words what that precise na¬ 
ture is. We do not suppose, indeed, that any one is ig¬ 
norant of what is meant when we have occasion to speak 
of an emotion, whether it be an emotion of melancholy, 
of cheerfulness, of surprise, or of some other kind. But, 
whatever may be the fact as to our knowledge, it is un¬ 
questionable that we are unable to give a verbal explana¬ 
tion of them, in themselves considered. 

In this respect they are like all other states of the mind, 
which are truly simple. The fact of their entire simplici¬ 
ty necessarily renders them undefinable; because a defi¬ 
nition implies a separation of the thing defined into parts. 
So that we are dependent for a knowledge of the interi¬ 
or and essential nature of emotions, not upon verbal ex¬ 
planations and definitions, which are inadequate to the 
communication of such knowledge, but upon Conscious¬ 
ness. It is a species of knowledge which the soul re¬ 
veals to itself by its own act, directly and immediately. 
While, therefore, we do not profess to define emotions, in 
any proper and legitimate sense of defining, we may 
commend them without impropriety to each one’s inter¬ 
nal examination. And certainly we may rely upon the 
intimations which consciousness, when properly interro¬ 
gated, can hardly fail to disclose in this case as well as 
in others. 


Z 2 


270 NATURE OF THE EMOTIONS. 

$ 249. The place of emotions, considered in reference to other mental 
acts. 

Although, in attempting to give some idea of Emotions, 
we are obliged, for a knowledge of them, in themselves 
considered, to refer each one to his own consciousness, 
we may nevertheless mention some circumstances which 
throw an indirect light on them; and, at any rate, render 
more clear to our perception the relation which they sus¬ 
tain to other mental states. The first circumstance which 
we propose to indicate has reference to the position 
which they occupy; (of course it will be understood that 
we mean their position, not in the material sense of the 
term, but in time or succession.) It will be found, on ex¬ 
amination, to be the fact, as we have already had occa¬ 
sion to suggest, that Emotions always occupy a place be¬ 
tween intellections or acts of the intellect and the desires, 
if they are natural emotions; and between intellections 
and feelings of moral obligation, if they are moral emo¬ 
tions. That they are subsequent to intellections, we be¬ 
lieve must be abundantly clear. It is as obvious as any 
axiom of geometry, that we cannot have any feeling, any 
emotion, in respect to that, whatever it is, which we have 
no knowledge of. 

In regard to the Desires, it is true, that, like the emo¬ 
tions, they are subsequent to the perceptive and cognitive 
acts; but it is well understood that they are not in imme 
diate proximity with them. It is perfectly obvious, that 
no act of perception or of cognition in any shape can 
lay the foundation for a desire, unless the object of per¬ 
ception is pleasant to us; in other words, unless it excites 
within us pleasant emotions. For, whenever we speak 
of a thing as pleasant to us, we certainly involve the 
fact that we have pleasant emotions in view of it.—Nor, 
furthermore, can any perceptive or intellectual act lay 
the foundation for Obligatory feelings (that is to say, feel¬ 
ings of moral obligation) without the intervention and 
aid of moral emotions. It may be regarded as self-evi¬ 
dent, that we never could feel under moral obligation to 
do or not to do a thing, unless the thing to be done or 
not to be done had first excited within us an emotion of 
approval or disapproval. So that the desires, and those 


NATURE OF THE EMOTIONS. 


271 


feelings in the moral sensibilities which correspond to 
them, are based upon emotions, as really as the emotions 
are based upon intellections. In the order of nature, 
therefore, emotions are found in the place which has now 
been allotted them, and they are found nowhere else; 
being always and necessarily posterior to a knowledge of 
the things to which they relate; and, on the other hand, 
antecedent, by an equally strict natural necessity, to the 
other states of mind which have been mentioned. 

$ 250. The character of emotions changes so as to conform to that of 
perceptions. 

It is important to impress upon the recollection, that 
the order of succession, in fact and in nature, is precisely 
that which has been stated, viz., intellections, emotions, 
and desires in the case of the natural sensibilities, and 
obligatory feelings in the case of the moral sensibilities. 
The two last mentioned being followed immediately, as 
their natural results, by acts of the will, which terminate 
and complete the entire process of mental action. But 
as we must take them and examine them in their order, 
we say further, in regard to the Emotions, which is the 
topic before us at present, that the fact of their subse¬ 
quence to intellections and of their being based upon 
them is confirmed by the circumstance of their always 
changing or varying in precise accordance with the per¬ 
ceptive or intellective acts. If it were otherwise, (that 
is to say, if they had any other foundation than intellect¬ 
ive acts) how does it happen that these changes so uni¬ 
formly take place ? 

We are looking, for instance, on some extended land¬ 
scape ; but are so situated that the view of certain ob¬ 
jects is interrupted, and, of course, the relations of the 
whole are disturbed. At such a time the emotions we 
have are far from being pleasant; perhaps they are de¬ 
cidedly unpleasant. But as soon as our imperfect per¬ 
ceptions are corrected, as soon as we are able to embrace 
the portions which were previously thrust out of view, 
and thus restore the interrupted proportions and harmony 
of the whole scenery, our emotions change at once, and 
we experience the highest pleasure.—Again, if we look 


272 


NATURE OF THE EMOTIONS. 


at a painting which has come from the hand of some 
master of his art, we are distinctly conscious at first sight 
of a pleasing emotion; but we examine it further, and 
make ourselves acquainted with a number of things less 
prominent than others, hut still decidedly showing the 
skill of the painter, which escaped our first view, and we 
are conscious of a distinct change in that emotion. It 
becomes more decided, more full, in precise conformity 
with the increased knowledge which we have obtained 
of the merit which the picture actually possesses. And 
it is so, if no unusual disturbing influence is interposed, 
in every other case, showing not only the intimate but 
proximate connexion between the emotions and the intel¬ 
lective acts, and the dependence of the former on the 
latter. 


$ 251. Emotions characterized by rapidity and variety. 

When we assert that the position of emotions is be¬ 
tween intellections on the one hand, and desires and 
obligations on the other, we imply, of course, that there is | 
a real and marked distinction between them and the lat¬ 
ter mental states. And this distinction exists. If con- s 
sciousness gives us a knowledge of emotions, the same i 
consciousness can hardly fail to give a knowledge of the 
mental states that are subsequent to them ; and the differ¬ 
ence of knowledge, resulting from these different acts of 
consciousness, involves necessarily a difference in the 
things known. 

(1.) Among other things, if we consult our conscious¬ 
ness for the purpose of ascertaining the comparative na¬ 
ture of the mental states in question, we shall undoubtedly 
be led to notice that the emotions, as compared with the 
others, are generally more prompt and rapid in their origin, 
as well as more evanescent. They arise and depart on 
the surface of the mind, swelling and sinking almost in¬ 
stantaneously, like the small waves and ripples that play 
upon the scarcely agitated surface of a summer’s lake, and 
which have no sooner arrested the eye of the beholder than 
they are gone. The desires and feelings of obligation 
not only arise subsequently and more slowly, but obvious¬ 
ly possess a greater tenacity and inflexibility of nature. 




EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


273 


When a strong desire or a decided sentiment of duty has 
once entrenched itself in the soul, it is well known that 
it is comparatively difficult to dislodge it. 

(2.) There is another circumstance involved in the dis¬ 
tinction between them. The emotions have less unity in 
kind ; in other words, are more various. Desires and ob¬ 
ligations, although liable, like other mental states, to be 
modified by peculiar circumstances, are, in themselves 
considered, always one and the same. But of emotions 
we find many varieties, such as the emotions of cheerful¬ 
ness and joy, of melancholy and sorrow, of shame, of 
surprise, astonishment, and wonder. We have further¬ 
more the emotions, differing from all others, of the ludi¬ 
crous, the emotions of beauty and sublimity, also the mor¬ 
al emotions of approval and disapproval, and some others. 
—If the reader will bear these statements in mind, taken 
in connexion with some things to be said hereafter, he 
will feel less objection, than he might otherwise have felt, 
to the general and subordinate classifications which we 
have thought ourselves authorized to make. These di¬ 
visions we hold to be fundamental. They are necessarily 
involved, as we apprehend, in a thorough and consistent 
knowledge of the mind. Important points, for instance, 
in the doctrine of the Will, will be found to depend upon 
distinctions which are asserted to exist in the sensibilities. 
It is desirable, therefore, that the grounds of such distinc¬ 
tions should be understood, so that they may not only be 
above rejection, but above doubt. 


CHAPTER n. 

EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 

§ 252. Characteristics of emotions of beauty. 

W t e do not profess to enter into an examination of eve¬ 
ry possible emotion. They are so various and multiplied, 
it would be difficult to do it; nor would any important 
object be answered. Proceeding on the principle of se- 



274 


EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


lecting those which, either in themselves, or by reason of 
their relation to the arts and to human conduct, appear to 
be most interesting and important, we shall begin with 
emotions of Beauty.—We have already had occasion to 
remark, that all emotions are undefinable. This remark 
is applicable to those under consideration as well as oth¬ 
ers. Of the emotions of beauty it will be as difficult to 
give a definition, so as to make them clearer to any one’s 
comprehension than they already are, as to define the 
simple sensations of colour, sound, or taste. We find in 
them, however, these two marks or characteristics. 

(1.) The emotion of beauty, in the first place, is al¬ 
ways a pleasing one. We never give the name to one 
which is painful, or to any feeling of disgust. Whenev¬ 
er, therefore, we speak of an emotion of beauty, we im¬ 
ply, in the use of the terms, some degree of satisfaction 
or pleasure. All persons, the illiterate as well as the 
scientific, use the phrase with this import.—(2.) We nev¬ 
er speak of emotions of beauty, to whatever degree may 
be our experience of inward satisfaction, without refer¬ 
ring such emotions to something external. The same- 
emotion, which is called satisfaction or delight of mind 
wffien it is wholly and exclusively internal, we find to be 
termed an emotion of beauty if we are able to refer it to 
something without, and to spread its charms around any 
external object. 

$ 253. Of what is meant by beautiful objects. 

There are many objects which excite the emotion of 
beauty; that is, when the objects are presented, this 
emotion, in a greater or less degree, immediately exists. 
These objects we call beautiful.—There are other objects 
which, so far from exciting pleasant emotions within us, 
are either indifferent, or cause feelings of a decidedly op¬ 
posite character ; so that we speak of them as deformed 
or disgusting. If there were no emotions, pleasant or un¬ 
pleasant, excited by either of these classes, or if the emo¬ 
tions which they cause were of the same kind, we should 
apply to them the same epithets. So that the ground of 
distinction, which, in speaking of these different objects, 
we never fail to make, appears to exist in our own feel- 





EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


275 


ings. In other words, we call an object beautiful, be¬ 
cause it excites within us pleasant emotions, which, in the 
. circumstances of the case, we cannot well ascribe to any 
other cause. And when we prefer to say, in other terms, 
that an object has beauty, we obviously mean the same 
i thing, viz., that the object has a trait or quality (perhaps 
we may find it difficult to explain precisely what it is) 
which causes these emotions. 

$ 254. Of the distinction between beautiful and other objects. 

In view of what has been said, we may venture to 
make two remarks.—(1.) Every beautiful object has 
something in itself which truly discriminates it from all 
other objects. This something, this peculiar trait, what¬ 
ever it is, lays the foundation for those results in the hu¬ 
man mind, which, on being experienced, authorize us to 
speak of the object as beautiful. This is clear, not only 
from what, on a careful examination, we shall frequently 
find in the objects themselves, but also from the fact, that 
the operations of the mind always have their appropriate 
causes. If the mind experiences a pleasant emotion in 
view of a certain object, it is because there is something 
in the object which has a determinate and permanent re¬ 
lation to that particular mental state which distinguishes 
it from other objects. If it were not for that distinctive 
trait in the object, the human mind is so constituted that 
it could not have experienced the corresponding emotion. 

(II.) Beautiful objects are distinguished from all others, 
not only by something in themselves, certain original and 
inherent traits characteristic of them, but also, and per¬ 
haps still more, by a superadded trait, a species of bor¬ 
rowed effulgence, derived and reflected back from the 
mind itself. When we contemplate a beautiful object, 
we are pleased; we are more or less happy. We natu¬ 
rally connect this emotion of pleasure with the object 
which is its cause ; and we have been in the habit of do¬ 
ing this, no doubt in most instances unconsciously to our¬ 
selves, from early life. The consequence is, the associa¬ 
tion between the inward delight and the outward cause 
becomes so strong, that we are unable to separate them; 
and the objects, additional to their own proper qualities, 


276 


EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


appear to be surrounded, and to beam out with an efful¬ 
gence which comes from the mind. 

§ 255. Grounds or occasions of emotions of beauty various. 

The next remark which we have to make on the sub¬ 
ject of Beauty is, that the objects by which it is occasion¬ 
ed are not always the same, but are very various; differ¬ 
ing from each other not only in their general nature, but 
also in their subordinate incidents. Accordingly, we may 
with, propriety regard the term beauty not so much a 
particular as a general or common name, expressive of 
numerous emotions, which always possess the characteris¬ 
tic of being pleasant, and are in every respect always the 
same in nature, but which may differ from each other 
both in the occasions of their origin, and also in the de¬ 
gree or intensity in which they exist. 

(I.) In regard to the occasions on which they arise, we 
may remark more particularly, that emotions of beauty 
are felt, and frequently in a very high degree, in the con¬ 
templation of material objects that are addressed to the 
sense of sight, such as woods, waters, cultivated fields, 
and the visible firmament. We look abroad upon nature, 
in the infinite variety of her works, as she is exhibited in 
the depths below and in the heights above, in her shells 
and minerals, in her plants, and flowers, and trees, in her 
waters, and her stars, and suns; and we find the mind 
kindling at the sight; fountains of pleasure are suddenly 
opened within us ; and we should do violence to our 
mental structure if we did not pronounce them beautiful. 

(II.) Again, emotions of beauty are felt in the contem¬ 
plation of intellectual and moral objects. In other words, 
mind, as well as matter, furnishes the occasion on which 
they arise. Whenever we discover intelligence, wisdom, 
truth, honour, magnanimity, benevolence, justice, or other 
traits of a mind acting as it was created and designed to 
act, we have a foundation laid for emotions of beauty.— 
The human countenance, considered merely as a material 
object, and as presenting nothing more than outline and 
colour, is undoubtedly beautiful; but becomes more so 
when it distinctly indicates to us intelligence and amia¬ 
bility. 


EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


277 


!• (III.) But emotions of beauty are not exclusively lim¬ 
ited to these occasions. Feelings, which not only bear 
the same name, but are truly analogous in kind, exist 
also on the contemplation of many other things.—The 
- sentiment or feeling of beauty exists, for instance, when 

• we are following out a happy train of reasoning; and 

• hence the mathematician, who certainly has a delightful 
t feeling analogous to what we experience in contempla- 
f ting many works of nature, speaks of a beautiful theorem. 
i —The connoisseur in music applies the term beautiful to 

a favourite air; the lover of poetry speaks of a beautiful 
■ song ; and the painter discovers beauty in the design and 
: in the colouring of his pictures. We also apply the term 
r beauty to experiments in the different departments of 

• physics; especially when the experiment is simple, and 
results in deciding a point which has occasioned doubt 

i and dispute. We speak of it, and, as we suppose, with 
a degree of propriety, as a beautiful experiment. 

So that all nature, taking the word in a wide sense, is 
! the province of beauty; the intellectual and the sensitive, 
as well as the material world. We do not, however, 

I mean by this to descend into particulars, and to say that 
i everything which exists within the range of these depart¬ 
ments is beautiful 5 but merely that from none of the 
great departments of nature are the elements of beauty 
excluded. 

() 256. All objects not equally fitted to cause these emotions. 

From what has been said, it must be evident that there 
is a correspondence between the mind and the outward 
objects which are addressed to it.—This has already been 
; clearly seen in respect to the sensations and external per¬ 
ceptions ; and it is not less evident in respect to that part 
! of our nature which we are now attending to. The mind, 
j an d the external world, and the external circumstances 
of our situation, are reciprocally suited to each other. 
Hence, when we ascribe the quality of beauty to any ob- 
ji ject, we have reference to this mutual adaptation. An 
I' object is ordinarily called beautiful when it has agreea¬ 
ble qualities; in other words, when it is the cause or .an¬ 
tecedent of the emotion of beauty. However it might 
Aa 







278 


EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


appear to other beings, it would not have the character of 
beauty to us, if there were not a sort of correspondence, 
an adaptedness to each other, between our mental consti¬ 
tution and such outward object. 

But no one can be ignorant that not all objects cause 
the emotions in question; and of those which possess this 
power, some have it in a greater, and some in a less de¬ 
gree. This brings us to a very important inquiry. It is 
no unreasonable curiosity which wishes to know, Why 
the effect is so limited, and why all objects are not em¬ 
braced in it ? Why different objects cause the same emo* j 
tion in different degrees'? And why the same objects 
produce a diversity of emotions in different individuals, 
and even in the same individual at different times ? 

$ 257. A susceptibility of emotions of beauty an ultimate principle of 
our mental constitution. 

In answering these questions, something must be taken 
for granted; there must be some starting point, other- i 
wise all that can be said will be involved in inextricable ! 
confusion. That is, we must take for granted that the ! 
mind has an original susceptibility offsubh emotions. Nor \ 
can we suppose there can be any objection to a conces- I 
sion which is warranted by the most general experience. < 
We all know that we are created with this susceptibility, j 
because we are all conscious of having had those emo¬ 
tions which are attributed to it. And if we are asked j 
how or why it is that the susceptibility at the bottom of i 
these feelings exists, we can only say that such was the i 
will of the Being who created the mind, and that this is j 
one of the original or ultimate elements of our nature. 

Although the mind, therefore, is originally susceptible 
of emotions of beauty, as every one knows; still it is no 
less evident, from the general arrangements we behold, j 
both in physical and in intellectual nature, that these ! 
emotions have their fixed causes or antecedents. We j 
have seen that these causes are not limited to one class 
or kind, but are do be found under various circumstances; I 
in the exercises of reasoning, in the fanciful creations of 
poetry, in musical airs, in the experiments of physics, in 
the forms of material existence, and the like. Perhaps 




EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


279 


we may assert, as a general statement, (that is to say, in 
a great number or majority of cases,) these objects cannot 
be presented to the mind, and the mind be unmoved by 
■ it; it contemplates them, and it necessarily has a feeling 
f: of delight, of a greater or less degree of strength, which 

r authorizes us in characterizing them as beautiful. 

In asserting that this is correct as a general statement, 
it is implied that some objects do not originally cause 
these emotions. And hence we are led to enter into more 
particular inquiries, having reference to this difference, in 
what may be called, in the phraseology of some recent 
writers, the .-esthetic power of objects. Accordingly, our 
purpose, in the remarks which are to follow, is to point 
out some of those objects, and forms and qualities of ob¬ 
jects, which seem from their very nature, and in distinc¬ 
tion from other objects which do not have this power, 
fitted to create within us the feelings under consideration. 

$ 258. Remarks on the beauty of forms.—The circle. 

In making that selection of those objects and qualities 
of objects which we suppose to be fitted, in the original 
constitution of things, to cause within us pleasing emo¬ 
tions of themselves, independently of any extraneous aid, 
we cannot profess to speak with certainty. The appeal 
is to the general experience of men; and all we can do 
is to give, so far as it seems to have been ascertained, the 
results of that experience. Beginning, therefore, with 
material objects, we are justified by general experience 
in saying that certain dispositions or forms of matter are 
beautiful; for instance, the circle. 

We rarely look upon a winding or serpentine form 
without experiencing a feeling of pleasure; and on see¬ 
ing a circle, this pleasure is heightened. Hence Hogarth, 
who, both by his turn of mind and by his habits of life, 
has claims to be regarded as a judge, expressly lays it 
down in his Analysis of Beauty, that those lines which 
have most variety in themselves contribute most towards 
the production of beauty; and that the most beautiful 
fine bv which a surface can be bounded is the waving 
or serpentine, or that which constantly, but imperceptibly, 
deviates from the straight line. This, which we frequent- 







280 


EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


ly find in shells, flowers, and other pleasing natural pro¬ 
ductions, he calls the line of beauty. 

$ 259. Original or intrinsic beauty.—The circle. 

It is necessary, in examining the subject of beauty, to 
look at it in two points of view, viz., as Intrinsic and as 
Associated. In the remarks which we may have occa¬ 
sion to make in this chapter, we have reference exclu¬ 
sively to what may be denominated Original or Intrinsic 
beauty; by which we mean that which is founded in the 
nature of the object, independently of accidental or merely 
accessory circumstances.—Accordingly, it is this form of 
beauty which we ascribe to the circle. Those objects 
which are circular, or approach that form, exhibiting a 
constantly varying outline, have in themselves, and on 
account of this configuration, a degree, and not unfre- 
quently a high degree, of beauty. The bending stem of 
the tulip, the curve of the weeping willow, the windings 
of the ivy, the vine wreathing itself around the elm, the 
serpentine river, are highly pleasing. The vast circular 
expanse of the visible sky, when seen in a cloudless night, 
is a beautiful object, independently of the splendour that 
is spread over it by its brilliant troops of stars. The arch 
of the rainbow, expanding its immense curve over our 
heads, could hardly fail to be regarded as an object of 
great beauty, even if nothing but the form and outline 
were presented to our vision, without the unrivalled lustre 
of its colours. And the same of other instances, scattered 
in profusion through the works of nature, but too numer¬ 
ous to be mentioned here. 

$ 260. Of the beauty of straight and angular forms. 

Although the circular or constantly varying outline is 
thought, more than any other, to excite the delightful 
emotions under consideration, we are not to suppose that 
the power of beauty is excluded from other forms. In 
examining the works of nature, it is hardly necessary to 
say that we find numerous instances of straight and an¬ 
gular forms, as well as of the serpentine and winding, 
although perhaps less frequently. It can hardly be doubt¬ 
ed that these forms, as they are operated upon and 



EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


281 


moulded in nature’s hands, possess more or less beauty. 
It is almost a matter of supererogation to attempt to il¬ 
lustrate this statement to those who have a heart and eye 
open to the great variety of her works, which on every 
side are presented to our notice. Her forms, either origi¬ 
nal or in their combinations, are without number; and if 
it be true that beauty does not claim a relationship with 
all, it is equally so that it is not restricted to one, or even a 
small portion of them. The intertwining shrubbery, which 
spreads itself abroad upon the ground, emits, if we may 
be allowed the expression, its sparkles and gleams of 
beauty around our feet. The elm, which rises upward 
towards the heavens, and forms its broad and green arch 
over our heads, is radiant with beauty also, although it is 
exceedingly diverse in its appearance. We readily ad¬ 
mit, for we cannot well do otherwise without violence to 
the suggestions of our nature, that the curve of the weep¬ 
ing willow possesses beauty. But, at the same time, we 
are not prepared to assert that the solitary palm-tree is 
absolutely destitute of it, although it displays, as it rises 
on the bosom of the desert, nothing but a tall, straight, 
branchless trunk, surmounted at the top, like a Corinthian 
column, by a single tuft of foliage. 

“ There are an infinite number of the feebler vegeta¬ 
bles,” says Mr. Alison, “ and many of the common grasses, 
the forms of which are altogether distinguished by angles 
and straight lines, and where there is not a single curva¬ 
ture through the whole ; yet all of which are beautiful. 
He ascribes in another place a high degree of beauty to 
the knotted and angular stem of the balsam. And re¬ 
marks also, in regard to the myrtle, that it is “ generally 
reckoned a beautiful form, yet the growth of its stem is 
perpendicular, the junctions of its branches form regular 
and similar angles, and their direction is in straight or an¬ 
gular lines.” 

$ 261. Of square, pyramidal, and triangular forms. 

The remarks of the last section, going to show that 
beauty is not limited to circular forms, is confirmed by 
what we observe in the works of art as well as ot na¬ 
ture. The square, for instance, although we do not sup- 
A a2 




282 


EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


pose it presents very high claims, comes in for a share of 
notice. On account of its practical convenience, and 
also for the reason of its being more entirely within the 
reach of human skill than some other forms, it is frequent¬ 
ly introduced into architecture; generally with a pleasing 
effect, and sometimes with a high degree of beauty. 

In the Gothic architecture, the pyramidal, a form still 
further removed from any relationship with the circle, has 
a conspicuous place, and when properly combined with 
other forms, gives a decided pleasure. Hogarth, in illus¬ 
tration of his remark, that variety has a great share in 
producing beauty, explicitly observes, that the pyramid, 
which gradually diminishes from its basis to its point, is 
a beautiful form. And it is in consequence of being so 
regarded that we find it so frequently employed, not only 
as a characteristic feature in the order of architecture just 
referred to, but in steeples, sepulchral monuments, and 
other works of art. 

Triangular forms also are not without beauty. Mr. 
Alison states, that the forms of Grecian and Roman fur¬ 
niture, in their periods of cultivated taste, were almost uni¬ 
versally distinguished by straight or angular lines. What 
is there, he inquires, more beautiful than the form of the 
ancient tripod 1 “ The feet gradually lessening to the 

end, and converging as they approach it; the plane of 
the table placed, with little ornament, nearly at right an¬ 
gles to the feet; and the whole appearing to form an im¬ 
perfect triangle, whose base is above. There is scarcely 
in such a subject a possibility of contriving a more angu¬ 
lar form, yet there can be none more completely beau¬ 
tiful.” 

In connexion with these statements, it is proper to add 
a single explanatory remark. We have much reason to 
believe that the emotion will be stronger in all cases in 
proportion as the beautiful object is distinctly and imme¬ 
diately embraced by the mind. It may be asserted, with 
undoubted good reason, that the square form has a degree 
of beauty as well as the circle, although it is generally 
conceded that it has less. But it is a matter of inquiry, 
whether the difference in this respect is owing so much to 
the original power of the forms themselves, as to the cir- 



EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


283 


cumstance just alluded to. In other words, whether it he 
not owing to the fact, that the circle, being more simple, 
makes a more direct, entire, and decided impression; 
whereas the attention is divided among the sides and an¬ 
gles of the square and other similar figures. 

§ 262. Of the original or intrinsic beauty of colours. 

We proceed to remark, as we advance in the further 
consideration of this interesting subject, that we expe¬ 
rience emotions of beauty in beholding the colours, as 
well as in contemplating the outlines or forms of bodies. 
The doctrine which we hold is, that some colours of 
themselves, independently of the additional interest which 
may subsequently be attached to them in consequence of 
certain associations, are fitted to excite within us those 
feelings of pleasure which authorize us in this, as well as 
in other analogous cases, to speak of the cause of them 
as beautiful. In other words, there are some colours 
which possess, as we suppose, an original or intrinsic 
beauty.—In support of this opinion, we are merely able 
to allude to some of the various considerations which nat¬ 
urally present themselves, without entering into that mi¬ 
nute exposition of them which would be admissible in a 
treatise professedly and exclusively devoted to the subject 
before us. 

(1.) The pleasure which results from the mere behold¬ 
ing of colours may be observed in very early life. It is 
in consequence of this pleasing emotion that the infant 
so early directs its eyes towards the light that breaks. in 
from the window, or which reaches the sense of vision 
from any other source. It is pleasing to see with what 
evident ecstasy the child rushes from flower to flower, 
and compares their brilliancy. Casting his eyes abroad 
in the pursuit of objects that are richly variegated, he 
pauses to gaze with admiration on every tree that is most 
profusely loaded with blossoms, or that is burdened with 
fruit of the deepest red and yellow. It is because he is 
attracted with the brightness of its wings that he pur¬ 
sues the butterfly with a labour so unwearied, or suspends 
his sport to watch the wayward movements of the hum¬ 
ming-bird. 



284 


EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


(2.) The same results are found also, very strikingly 
and generally, among all savage tribes. The sons of the 
forest are not so wholly untutored, so wholly devoid of 
natural sensibility, that they will not sometimes forget the 
ardour of the chase in the contemplation of the flowers 
which bloom in the neighbourhood of their path. Seeing 
how beautiful the fish of their lakes and rivers, the bird 
of their forests, and the forest tree itself, are rendered by 
colours, they commit the mistake of attempting to render 
their own bodies more beautiful by artificial hues. They 
value whatever dress they may have in proportion to the 
gaudiness of its colours; they weave rich and variegated 
plumes into their hair; and as they conjectured, from his 
scarlet dress, that Columbus was the captain of the Span¬ 
iards, so they are wont to intimate and express their own 
rank and dignity by the splendour of their equipments. 

(3.) And the same trait which has been so often no¬ 
ticed in Savages, may be observed also, though in a less 
degree, among the uneducated classes in civilized com¬ 
munities. In persons of refinement, the original tenden¬ 
cy to receive pleasing emotions from the contemplation 
of colours seems to have, in a measure, lost its power, in 
consequence of the developement of tendencies to receive 
pleasure from other causes. In those, on the contrary, 
who have possessed less advantages of mental culture, 
and whose sources of pleasure may in consequence be 
supposed to lay nearer to the surface of the mind, this 
tendency remains undiminished. Coloured objects gen¬ 
erally affect them with a high degree of pleasure ; so 
much so that the absence of colour is not, in their esti¬ 
mation, easily compensated by the presence of any other 
qualities. We cannot well suppose that there is any in¬ 
termediate influence between the beautiful object and the 
mind, of which this pleasure is the product; but must 
rather conclude, in the circumstances of the case, that the 
presence of the object, and that only, is the ground of its 
existence. 

§ 263. Further illustrations of the original beauty of colours. 

We may derive additional proof of the fact that col¬ 
ours are of themselves fitted to cause emotions of beauty, 


EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


285 


from what we learn in the case of those persons who 
have been blind from birth, but in after life have sud¬ 
denly been restored by couching, or in some other way. 
—“ I have couched,” says Dr. War dr op,* speaking of 
James Mitchell, “ one of his eyes successfully; and he 
is much amused with the visible world, though he mis¬ 
trusts information gained by that avenue. One day I got 
him a new and gaudy suit of clothes, which delighted him 
beyond description. It was the most interesting scene of 
sensual gratification I ever beheld.” 

But this person, it appears, had some faint notions of 
light and colours previous to the operation by which his 
powers of vision were more fully restored. And the 
facts, stated in connexion with his exercise of this imper¬ 
fect vision, are equally decisive in favour of the doctrine 
under consideration. The statements to which we refer 
are as follows.—“ At the time of life when this boy began 
to walk, he seemed to be attracted by bright and dazzling 
colours ; and though everything connected with his his¬ 
tory appears to prove that he derived little information 
from the organ, yet he received from it much sensual 
gratification. He used to hold between his eye and lu¬ 
minous objects such bodies as he found to increase, by 
their interposition, the quantity of light; and it was one 
of his chief amusements to concentrate the sun’s rays by 
means of pieces of glass, transparent pebbles, or similar 
substances, which he held between his eye and the light, 
and turned about in various directions. These too he 
would often break with his teeth, and give them that 
form which seemed to please him most. There were oth¬ 
er modes by which he was in the habit of gratifying this 
fondness for light. He would retire to any outhouse or to 
any room within his reach, shut the windows and doors, 
and remain there for some considerable time, with his eyes 
fixed on some small hole or chink which admitted the 
sun’s rays, eagerly watching them. He would also, du¬ 
ring the winter nights, often retire to a dark corner of the 
room and kindle a light for his amusement. On these oc¬ 
casions, as well as in the gratification of his other senses, 
his countenance and gestures displayed a most interesting 
avidity and curiosity.” 

* As quoted by Mr. Stewart in his account of Mitchell. 


286 


EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


The conclusion which we deduce from these sources of 
proof is, that colours are fitted, from our very constitu¬ 
tion, to produce within us emotions of beauty. 

§ 264. Of sounds considered as a source of beauty. 

We next propose to inquire into the application of these 
principles in respect to sounds. And here also we have 
reason to believe that they hold good to a certain extent; 
in other words, that certain sounds are pleasing of them¬ 
selves; and are hence, agreeably to'views already ex¬ 
pressed, termed beautiful.— In proceeding, however, to 
the consideration of beauty as it exists in connexion 
with sounds, it may be proper to recur to the remark 
which was made near the commencement of the chapter, 
that the sources or grounds of beauty, although the emo¬ 
tions they excite within us are all of essentially the same 
kind, are very various. In view of what was there said, 
we do not feel at liberty to doubt, as some may be dispo¬ 
sed to do, whether there is beauty in sounds, merely be¬ 
cause sounds are obviously altogether different from some 
other objects which constitute sources of beauty, such as 
colours or forms. It is not the intention of nature that 
the empire of the beautiful shall be limited in this man¬ 
ner. On the contrary, if certain sounds have something 
within them, which from its very nature is calculated to 
excite within us pleasing emotions, they are obviously dis¬ 
tinguished by this circumstance from other sounds, and 
furnish a sufficient reason for our regarding them and 
speaking of them as beautiful. 

(1.) In asserting, however, that there is an original 
beauty in sounds, we do not wish to be understood as 
saying that all sounds, of whatever kind, possess this 
character. There are some sounds which, in themselves 
considered, are justly regarded as indifferent, and others 
as positively disagreeable. No one would hesitate in 
pronouncing the discordant creaking of a wheel, the filing 
of a saw, the braying of the ass, the scream of a peacock, 
or the hissing of a serpent, to be disagreeable. There 
are other sounds, such as the bleating of the lamb, the 
lowing of the cow, the call of the goat, and other notes 
and cries of animals, which appear to be, in themselves, 


EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


287 


entirely indifferent. We are aware that they are some¬ 
times spoken of as beautiful; nor is it necessary to deny 
that they are sometimes heard with a high degree of 
pleasure. But we regard the beauty in this case as rath¬ 
er associated than intrinsic; the result rather of acces¬ 
sory circumstances than of the thing itself. The happy 
remarks of Mr. Alison, going to show the nature of the 
beauty which is ordinarily felt at such times, will be read 
with interest. 

“ The bleating of a lamb is beautiful in n fine day in 
spring; in the depth of winter it is very far from being 
so. The lowing of a cow at a distance, amid the scene¬ 
ry of a pastoral landscape in summer, is extremely beau¬ 
tiful ; in a farmyard it is absolutely disagreeable. The 
hum of the beetle is beautiful in a fine summer evening, 
as appearing to suit the stillness and repose of that pleas¬ 
ing season: in the noon of day it is perfectly indifferent. 
The twitter of the swallow is beautiful in the morning, 
and seems to be expressive of the cheerfulness of that 
time ; at any other hour it is quite insignificant. Even 
the song of the nightingale, so wonderfully charming m 
the twilight or at night, is altogether disregarded during 
the day; in so much so, that it has given rise to the 
common mistake that this bird does not sing but at night. 

<$ 265. Illustrations of the original beauty of sounds. 

(2.) Other sounds, those which are properly termed 
musical, have a beauty which is original or intrinsic, and 
not merely accessory. It is true that different nations 
have different casts or styles of music, modified by the 
situation and habits of the people; but everything that 
can properly be called music, whatever occasional or ac¬ 
cidental modification it may assume, is in its nature more 
or less beautiful. Musical sounds, independently of their 
combinations and expression, are characterized m a way 
which distinguishes them from all others; viz., by the 
circumstance of their possessing certain mathematical 
proportions in their times of vibration. Such sounds 
please us originally; in other words, whenever, in all or¬ 
dinary circumstances, they are heard, they please natural¬ 
ly and necessarily.—We are aware that attempts have 


288 


EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


sometimes 1)6611 made to explain the pleasure which is 
received from musical sounds, as well as from those of a 
different character, on the doctrine of association. But 
there are various difficulties in this explanation, some of 
which will now be referred to. 

(1.) In the first place, we are led to expect, from the 
analogy of things which we witness in other cases, that 
we shall find, in the human heart also, an original sensi¬ 
bility to the beautiful in the matter under consideration. 
We refer now to what we frequently notice in the lower 
animals ; and although we do not claim that very much 
weight should be attached to this view of the subject, it 
certainly furnishes some matter for reflection. Why 
should brute animals be originally pleased with musical 
sounds, and man, whom we may well suppose to have as 
much need of this pleasure, be naturally destitute of the 
capability of receiving it? In regard to brute animals, 
(we do not say all, but many of them,) there is no possi¬ 
ble question as to the fact involved in this inquiry. 
Through all the numberless varieties which they exhibit, 
from the mouse, of which Linnaeus says with strict truth, 
“ delectatur musica,” to the elephant on the banks of the 
Niger, that responds with his unwieldy dance to the rude 
instrument of the untutored African, they yield their 
homage to the magic of sweet sounds. To attempt to 
explain the pleasure they receive on the ground of asso¬ 
ciation would be difficult, perhaps ridiculous. The sim¬ 
ple fact is, that they listen and are delighted. It is the 
sound, and nothing but the sound, which excites the joy 
they exhibit. So great is the acknowledged power of 
music over many brute animals, that the classical tradi¬ 
tions which celebrate the achievements of the early poets 
and musicians scarcely transcend the bounds of truth. 

“ For Orpheus’ lute was strung with poets’ sinews, 

Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones, 

Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans 
Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.” 

(2.) In the second place, children, at an early period 
of life, before they have had an opportunity of connect¬ 
ing associations with them to any great extent, are high¬ 
ly pleased with musical sounds. This is a fact which 


EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


289 


we cannot suppose has escaped the notice of any one. 
Let a wandering musician suddenly make his appearance 
in a country village, with his fife, bagpipe, or hand-or¬ 
gan, (instruments which are not supposed to possess the 
highest claims to musical power,) and it is surprising to 
see with what an outburst of joy the sound is welcomed 
to the heart of childhood. Delighted countenances clus¬ 
ter at the windows; and merry groups, that just before 
made the streets ring with their noise, suddenly leave 
their sports, and rush with a new and delighted impulse 
to the presence of the strolling minstrel. This is univer¬ 
sally the fact; and when we consider the early age at 
which it takes place, it seems to be inconsistent with any 
other view than that which ascribes to sounds of a cer¬ 
tain character an original or intrinsic attraction. 

(3.) We witness, furthermore, the same result in Sav¬ 
age tribes, when they first become acquainted with the 
instruments of music, however simple or imperfect they 
may be, which have been fabricated by European skill. 
It is said of the native inhabitants of this country, that 
they frequently purchased of the Spaniards* when they 
first came to America, small bells; and when they hung 
them on their persons, and heard their clear musical 
sounds responding to the movement of their dances, they 
were filled with the highest possible delight. At a later 
period in the history of the country, it is related by one 
of the Jesuit missionaries, that once coming into the com¬ 
pany of certain ignorant and fierce Indians, he met with 
a rude and menacing reception, which foreboded no very 
favourable termination. As it was not his design, how¬ 
ever, to enter into any contention if it could possibly be 
avoided, he immediately commenced playing on a string¬ 
ed instrument; their feelings were softened at once; and 
the evil spirit of jealousy and anger, which they exhibited 
on his first approach to them, fled from their minds.”*— 
We cannot suppose it necessary to multiply instances to 
the same effect. 

* See Irving’s Life and Voyages of Columbus, ch. ix.—London Quar¬ 
terly Review, vol. xxvi., p. 287. 

B B 


290 


EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


<$ 266. Further instances of the original beauty of sounds. 

(4.) In the fourth place, deaf persons, who have been 
suddenly restored to the sense of hearing, and also per¬ 
sons who, in consequence of their peculiar situation, have 
never heard musical sounds till a certain period of their 
life, and have therefore been unable, in either case, to 
form associations with such sounds, either pleasant or un¬ 
pleasant, have been found, on hearing them for the first 
time, to experience a high degree of pleasure.—So far as 
we have been able to learn, we believe this to be the fact. 
At the same time, as instances of this kind Seldom occur, 
and are still less frequently recorded, we do not profess to 
rely upon the statement as universally true, with an entire 
degree of confidence. The circumstances wdiich are rela¬ 
ted of Caspar Hauser, on hearing musical sounds for the 
first time, are one of the few instances in point. The 
statement is as follows.—“ Not only his mind, but many 
of his senses, appeared at first to be in a state of stupor, 
and only gradually to open to the perception of external 
objects. It was not before the lapse of several days that 
he began to notice the striking of the steeple clock and 
the ringing of the bells. This threw him into the great¬ 
est astonishment, which at first was expressed only by his 
listening looks and by certain spasmodic motions of his 
countenance; but it was soon succeeded by a stare of 
benumbed meditation. Some weeks afterward the nup¬ 
tial procession of a peasant passed by the tower, with a 
band of music, close under his window. He suddenly 
stood listening, motionless as a statue; his countenance « 
appeared to be transfigured, and his eyes, as it were, to 
irradiate his ecstasy; his ears and eyes seemed continu¬ 
ally to follow the movements of the sounds as they rece¬ 
ded more and more; and they had long ceased to be 
audible, while he still continued immoveably fixed in a 
listening posture, as if unwilling to lose the last vibrations 
of these, to him, celestial notes, or as if his soul had fol¬ 
lowed them and left his body behind it in torpid insensi¬ 
bility.”* 

$ 267. The permanency of musical power dependent on its being intrinsic. 

On the subject of the original or intrinsic beauty of cer- 

* Life of Caspar Hauser, ch. iii. 





EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 


291 


tain sounds, one other remark remains to be made here. 
—It will be recollected, that the doctrine which we are 
opposing is, that all the power which musical sounds 
have, considered as a source of beauty, is wholly resolva¬ 
ble into association. If this be true, then it seems to be 
the proper business of professed composers of music to 
study the nature and tendency of associations rather than 
of sounds. The common supposition in this matter un¬ 
doubtedly is, that the musical composer exercises his in¬ 
vention and taste, in addition to the general conception 
or outline of his work, in forming perfect chords, varied 
modulation, and accurate rythm. This is a principal, not 
the only one, but a principal field of his labours; the 
theatre on which his genius is especially displayed ; and 
without these results of chord, modulation, and rythm, it 
is certain that his efforts will fail to please. But if the 
doctrine which we are opposing be true, would it not be 
the fact, that he could bring together the most harsh and 
discordant sounds, and compose, by means of them, the 
great works of his art, provided he took the pains to cover 
their deformity by throwing over them some fascinating 
dress of association ? But we presume it will not be pre¬ 
tended that mere association possesses this power as a 
general thing, even in the hands of genius.—Furthermore, 
we do not hesitate to say, that from the nature of the 
case, the musical genius which composes its works for 
immortality must deal chiefly with the elements and es¬ 
sentialities of things, and not with the mere incidents and 
accessories. Permanency in the works of art, of course, 
implies a corresponding permanency in their foundation. 
Associations are correctly understood to be, from their 
very nature, uncertain and changeable, while the beauty 
of some musical compositions (we speak but the common 
sentiment of mankind in saying it) is imperishable; a fact 
which seems to be inconsistent with its being founded on 
an unfixed and evanescent basis. 

$ 268. Of motion as an element of beauty. 

Motion also, a new and distinct object of contempla¬ 
tion, has usually been reckoned a source of the beautiful, 
and very justly.—A forest or a field of grain, gently waved 



292 


EMOTIONS OF EEAU'TY. 


by the wind, affects us pleasantly. The motion of a wind¬ 
ing river pleases; and this, not only because the river is 
serpentine, but because it is never at rest. We are de¬ 
lighted with the motion of a ship as it cleaves the sea 
under full sail. We look on as it moves like a thing of 
life, and are pleased without being able to control our 
feelings, or to tell why they exist. And the waves, too, 
around it, which are continually approaching and depart¬ 
ing, and curling upward in huge masses, and then break¬ 
ing asunder into fragments of every shape, present a much 
more pleasing appearance than they would if profoundly 
quiet and stagnant. 

With what happy enthusiasm we behold the foaming 
cascade, as it breaks out from the summit of the mountain 
and dashes downward to its base! With what pleasing 
satisfaction we gaze upon a column of smoke ascending 
from a cottage in a wood; a trait in outward scenery 
which landscape painters, who must certainly be account¬ 
ed good judges of what is beautiful in the aspects of ex¬ 
ternal nature, are exceedingly fond of introducing. It 
may be said in this case, we are aware,that the pleasure 
arising from beholding the ascending smoke of the cot¬ 
tage is caused by the favourite suggestions which are 
connected with it, of rural seclusion, peace, and abun¬ 
dance. But there is much reason to believe that the feel¬ 
ing would be, to some extent, the same, if it were known 
to ascend from the uncomfortable wigwam of the Savage, 
from an accidental conflagration, or from the fires of a 
wandering horde of gipsies.—And if motion, on the lim¬ 
ited scale on which we are accustomed to view it, be 
beautiful, how great would be the ecstasy of our feelings 
if we could be placed on some pinnacle of the universe, 
and could take in at one glance the regular and unbroken 
movement of the worlds and systems of infinite space. 

§ 269. Explanation of the beauty of motion from Kaimes. 

The author of the Elements of Criticism, who studied 
our emotions with great care, has the following explana¬ 
tions on this subject.—“ Motion is certainly agreeable in 
all its varieties of quickness and slowness; but motion 
long continued admits some exceptions. That degree of 


ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 


293 


continued motion which corresponds to the natural course 
of our perceptions is the most agreeable. The quickest 
motion is for an instant delightful; but it soon appears 
to be too rapid: it becomes painful by forcibly accelera¬ 
ting the course of our perceptions. Slow, continued mo¬ 
tion becomes disagreeable for an opposite reason, that it 
retards the natural course of our perceptions. 

“ There are other varieties in motion, besides quickness 
and slowness, that make it more or less agreeable: regular 
motion is preferred before what is irregular; witness the 
motion of the planets in orbits nearly circular: the motion 
of the comets in orbits less regular is less agreeable. 

“ Motion uniformly accelerated, resembling an ascend¬ 
ing series of numbers, is more agreeable than when uni¬ 
formly retarded: motion upward is agreeable by the ele¬ 
vation of the moving body. What then shall we say of 
downward motion regularly accelerated by the force of 
gravity, compared with upward motion regularly retard¬ 
ed by the same force? Which of these is the most 
agreeable ? This question is not easily solved. 

“ Motion in a straight line is no doubt agreeable: but 
we prefer undulating motion, as of waves, of a flame, of 
a ship under sail: such motion is more free and also 
more natural. Hence the beauty of a serpentine river.” 


CHAPTER III. 

ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 

$ 270. Associated beauty implies an antecedent or intrinsic beauty. 

The views on the subject of beauty, which we think it 
important to enforce, involve the positions, first, that 
there is an original or intrinsic beauty; and second, that 
there is a beauty dependent on association.—In opposi¬ 
tion to those persons who may be disposed to maintain 
that no object is beautiful of itself, but that all its beauty 
depends on association, we wish, in this connexion, to in¬ 
troduce what we regard as an important remark of Mr. 

B b 2 



294 


ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 


Stewart. “ The theory,” he remarks, " which resolves 
the whole effect of beautiful objects into Association, must 
necessarily involve that species of paralogism, to which 
logicians give the name of reasoning in a circle. It is the 
province of association to impart to one thing the dis¬ 
agreeable or the agreeable effect of another; but associa¬ 
tion can never account for the origin of a class of pleas¬ 
ures different in kind from all the others we know. If 
there was nothing originally and intrinsically pleasing or 
beautiful, the associating principle would have no mate¬ 
rials on which it could operate.”* 

This remark, if it be true, appears to be decisive on 
the subject before us. And that it is true, we think must 
appear from the very nature of association. What we 
term association, it will be recollected, does not so much 
express a state of the mind, a thought, a feeling, a pas¬ 
sion, as it does a principle or law of the mind ; in other 
words, the circumstance under which a new state of 
mind takes place. Association, therefore, as Mr. Stewart 
intimates, does not of itself originate or create anything; 
but acts in reference to what is already created or origi¬ 
nated. Something must be given for it to act upon. If 
it imparts beauty to one object, it must find it in another. 
If the beauty exists in that other object in consequence 
of association, it must have been drawn from some other 
source still more remote. If, therefore, association merely 
takes the beauty on its wings, if we may be allowed the 
expression, and transfers it from place to place, there 
must, of necessity, be somewhere an original or intrinsic 
beauty, which is made the subject of such transfer. 

$ 271. Objects may become beautiful by association merely. 

In accordance with what has thus far been said on this 
whole subject, it will be kept in mind, that some of the 
forms, of which matter is susceptible, are pleasing of 
themselves and originally; also that we are unable to be¬ 
hold certain colours, and to listen to certain sounds, and 
gaze upon particular expressions of the countenance, and 
to contemplate high intellectual and moral excellence, 
without emotions in a greater or less degree delightful. 

* Essay on the Beautiful, chapter vi. 


ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 


295 


At the same time, it must be admitted, that in the course 
of our experience we find a variety of objects, that seem, 
as they are presented to us, to be unattended with any 
emotion whatever; objects that are perfectly indifferent. 
And yet these objects, however wanting* in beauty to the 
great mass of men, are found to be invested in the minds 
of some with a charm, allowedly not their own. These 
objects, which previously excited no feelings of beauty, 
may become beautiful to us in consequence of the asso¬ 
ciations which we attach to them. That is to say, when 
the objects are beheld, certain former pleasing feelings 
peculiar to ourselves are recalled. 

The lustre of a spring morning, the radiance of a sum¬ 
mer evening, may of themselves excite in us a pleasing 
emotion ; but as our busy imagination, taking advantage 
of the images of delight which are before us, is ever at 
work and constantly forming new images, there is, in com¬ 
bination with the original emotion of beauty, a superad- 
ded delight. And if, in these instances, only a part of 
the beauty is to be ascribed to association, there are some 
others where the whole is to be considered as derived 
from that source. 

Numerous instances can be given of the power of as¬ 
sociation, not only in heightening the actual charms of 
objects, but in spreading a sort of delegated lustre around 
those that were entirely uninteresting before. Why does 
yon decaying house appear beautiful to me, which is 
indifferent to another ? Why are the desolate fields 
around it clothed with delight, while others see in them 
nothing that is pleasant ? It is because that house form¬ 
erly detained me as one of its inmates at its fireside, and 
those fields were the scenes of many youthful sports. 
When I now behold them after so long a time, the joyous 
emotions which the remembrance of my early days calls 
up within me, are, by the power of association, thrown 
around the objects which are the cause of the remem¬ 
brances. 

$ 272. Further illustrations of associated feelings. 

He who travels through a well-cultivated country town, 
cannot but be pleased with the various objects which he 



296 


ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 


beholds; the neat and comfortable dwellings; the mead¬ 
ows, that are peopled with flocks and with herds of cat¬ 
tle ; the fields of grain, intermingled with reaches of thick 
and dark forest. The whole scene is a beautiful one; the 
emotion we suppose to be partly original; a person, on 
being restored to sight by couching for the cataract, and 
having had no opportunity to form associations with it, 
would witness it for the first time with delight. But a 
considerable part of the pleasure is owing to the associa¬ 
ted feelings which arise on beholding such a scene; these 
dwellings are the abode of man; these fields are the 
place of his labours, and amply reward him for his toil; 
here are contentment, the interchange of heartfelt joys, 
and “ ancient truth.” 

Those who have travelled over places that have been 
signalized by memorable events, will not be likely to sus¬ 
pect us of attributing too great a share of our emotions 
to association. It is true, that, in a country so new as 
America, we are unable to point so frequently as a Eu¬ 
ropean might do to places that have witnessed achieve¬ 
ments and sufferings of such a character as to become 
sacred in a nation’s memory. But there are some such 
consecrated spots. With whatever emotion or want of 
emotion the traveller may pass by other places of our 
wild and stormy coast, he would do violence to the finest 
impulses of the heart if he did not stop at the Rock of 
Plymouth, the landing-place of the Pilgrim Fathers. 
Not because there is anything in the scenery, either of the 
ocean or the land, which presents claims upon him more 
imperative, or so much so as that of some other places. 
But there is a moral power, the spirit of great achieve¬ 
ments hovering around the spot, (explainable on the prin¬ 
ciples of association and on them alone,) which spreads 
itself over the hard features of the soil, and illuminates 
the bleakness of the sky, and harmonizes what would be 
otherwise rugged and forbidding into a scene of touching 
loveliness and beauty. 

The powerful feeling which exists on visiting such a 
spot, whether we call it an emotion of beauty or sublimi- 
ty, or give it a name expressive of some intermediate 
grade, is essentially the same with that which is caused in 


ASSOCIATED BEAUTY., 


297 


the bosom of the traveller when he looks for the first 
time upon the hills of the city of Rome. There are other 
cities of greater extent, and washed by nobler rivers, than 
the one which is before him; but upon no others has he 
ever gazed with such intensity of feeling. He beholds 
what was once the mistress of the world; he looks upon 
the ancient dwelling-place of Brutus, of Cicero, and of the 
Caesars. The imagination is at once peopled with what¬ 
ever was noble in the character and remarkable in the 
achievements of that extraordinary nation; and there is 
a strength, a fulness of emotion, which would never have 
been experienced without the accession of those great and 
exciting remembrances.—It is in connexion with the prin¬ 
ciples'of this chapter, and in allusion to places of histori¬ 
cal renown, that Rogers, in his Pleasures of Memory, has 
said, with equal philosophical truth and poetical skill: 

“ And hence the charms historic scenes impart; 

Hence Tiber awes, and Avon melts the heart; 

Aerial forms in Tempe’s classic vale, 

Glance through the gloom, and whisper in the gale ; 

In wild Vaucluse with love and Laura dwell, 

And watch and weep in Eloisa’s cell.” 

§ 273. Instances of national associations. 

The influence of association in rousing up and in giv¬ 
ing strength to particular classes of emotions, may be stri¬ 
kingly seen in some national instances.—Every country 
has its favourite tunes. These excite a much stronger 
feeling in the native inhabitants than in strangers. The 
effect on the Swiss soldiers of the Ranz des Vaches, their 
national air, whenever they happen to hear it in foreign 
lands, has often been mentioned. . So great was this ef¬ 
fect, that it was found necessary in France to forbid its 
being played in the Swiss corps in the employment of the 
French government. The powerful effect of this song 
cannot be supposed to be owing to any peculiar merits in 
the composition ; but to the pleasing recollections which 
it ever vividly brings up to the minds of the Swiss, of 
mountan life, of freedom, and of domestic pleasures. 

The English have a popular tune called Belleisle 
March. Its popularity is said to have been owing to the 
circumstance that it was played when the English army 


298 


ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 


marched into Belleisle, and to its consequent association 
with remembrances of war and of conquest. And it will 
be found true of all national airs, that they have a charm 
for the natives of the country, in consequence of the rec¬ 
ollections connected with them, which they do not pos¬ 
sess for the inhabitants of other countries. 

We have abundant illustrations of the same fact in re¬ 
spect to colours. The purple colour has acquired an ex¬ 
pression or character of dignity, in consequence of having 
been the common colour of the dress of kings; among 
the Chinese, however, yellow is the most dignified colour, 
and evidently for no other reason than because yellow is 
that which is allotted to the royal family. In many coun¬ 
tries, black is expressive of gravity, and is used particu¬ 
larly in seasons of distress and mourning; and white is 
a cheerful colour. But among the Chinese white is gloo¬ 
my, because it is the dress of mourners; and in Spain 
and among the Venetians black has a cheerful expression, 
in consequence of being worn by the great. 

Many other illustrations to the same purpose might be 
brought forward. The effect of association is not unfre- 
quently such as to suppress and entirely throw out the ori¬ 
ginal character of an object, and to substitute a new one 
in its stead. Who has not felt, both in man and woman, 
that a single crime, that even one unhappy deed of mean¬ 
ness or dishonour, is capable of throwing a darkness and 
distortion over the charms of the most perfect form ? The 
glory seems to have departed; and no effort of reasoning 
or of imagination can fully restore it. 


$ 274. The sources of associated beauty coincident with those of human 
happiness. 

It would be a pleasing task to point out more particu¬ 
larly some of the sources of associated beauty, if it were 
consistent with the plan which we propose to follow. But 
it has been our object throughout to give the sketch or out¬ 
line of a system, rather than indulge in minuteness of spe¬ 
cification. And as to the subject which we now allude 
to, it could hardly be expected that we should attempt 
to explain it extensively, much less exhaust it, when we 
consider that the sources of associated beauty are as wide 
and as numerous as the sources of man’s happiness. 



ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 


299 


The fountains of human pleasure, connected with the 
senses, the intellect, the morals, and the social and reli¬ 
gious relations, are exceedingly multiplied. And when¬ 
ever the happiness we experience, from whatever source 
it may proceed, is brought into intimacy with a beautiful 
object, we generally find that the beauty of the object is 
heightened by that circumstance. In other cases, the as¬ 
sociation is so strong, that a beauty is shed upon objects 
which are confessedly destitute of it in themselves.—It is 
enough, therefore, to say, that the sources of associated 
beauty are necessarily as wide as the unexplored domain 
of human joy. 

§ 275. Summary of views in regard to the beautiful. 

As the subject of emotions of beauty is one of no small 
difficulty, it may be of advantage to give here a brief 
summary of some of the prominent views in respect to it. 

(1.) Of emotions of beauty it is difficult to give a def¬ 
inition, but we notice in them two marks or characteris¬ 
tics.—They imply, first, a degree of pleasure, and sec¬ 
ondly, are always referred by us to external objects as 
their cause. 

(2.) Every beautiful object has something in itself, 
which discriminates it from other objects that are not 
beautiful. On this ground we may with propriety speak 
of beauty in the object. At the same time, a superadded 
lustre is reflected back upon it from the mind; and this 
too, whether the beauty be original or associated. 

(3.) The feeling which we term an emotion of beauty 
is not limited to natural scenery, but may be caused also 
by the works of art, by the creations of the imagination, 
and by the various forms of intellectual and moral nature, 
so far as they can be presented to the mind. All these 
various objects and others may excite within us feelings 
of pleasure, and the mind, in its turn, may reflect back 
upon the objects the lustre of its own emotions, and thus 
increase the degree of their beauty. . .... 

(4.) There is in the mind an original susceptibility of 
emotions in general, and of those of beauty in particular; 
and not only this, some objects are found in the constitu¬ 
tion of things to be followed by these feelings of beauty, 



300 


EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 


while others are not; and such objects are spoken of as 
being originally beautiful. That is, when the object is 
presented to the mind, it is of itself followed by emotions 
of beauty, without being aided by the influence of acces¬ 
sory and contingent circumstances. 

(5.) Without pretending to certainty in fixing upon 
those objects, to which what is termed original or intrinsic 
beauty may be ascribed, there appears to be no small rea¬ 
son in attributing it to certain forms, to sounds of a par¬ 
ticular character, to bright colours, to some varieties of 
motion, and, we may add, to intellectual and moral excel¬ 
lence, whenever it can be made a distinct object of per¬ 
ception. 

(6.) Many objects, which cannot be considered beauti¬ 
ful of themselves, become such by being associated with 
a variety of former pleasing and enlivening recollections; 
and such as possess beauty of themselves may augment 
the pleasing emotions from the same cause. Also much 
of the difference of opinion which exists as to what ob¬ 
jects are beautiful and what are not, is to be ascribed to 
difference of association.—These are some of the prom¬ 
inent views resulting from inquiries into this subject. 


CHAPTER IV. 

EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 

$ 276. Connexion between beauty and sublimity. 

Those emotions which, by way of distinction, we desig¬ 
nate as sublime, are a class of feelings which have much 
in common with emotions of beauty; they do not appear 
to differ so much in nature or kind as in degree. When 
we examine the feelings which are embraced under these 
two designations, we readily perceive that they have a 
progression; that there are numerous degrees in point of 
intensity; but the emotion, although more vivid in one 
case than the other, and mingled with some foreign ele¬ 
ments, is, for the most part, essentially the same. So that 



EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 


301 


it is by no means impossible to trace, in a multitude of 
cases, a connexion even between the fainter feelings of 
beauty and the most overwhelming emotions of the sub¬ 
lime. 

This progression of our feelings, from one that is gentle 
and pleasant to one that is powerful, and even painful, 
has been illustrated in the case of a person who is suppo¬ 
sed to behold a river at its first rise in the mountains, and 
to follow it as it winds and enlarges in the subjacent 
plains, and to behold it at last losing itself in the expanse 
of the ocean. For a time, the feelings which are excited 
within him, as he gazes on the prospect, are what are 
termed emotions of beauty. As the small stream which 
had hitherto played in the uplands, and amid foliage that 
almost hid it from his view, increases its waters, separates 
its banks to a great distance from each other, and becomes 
the majestic river, his feelings are of a more powerful 
kind. We often, by way of distinction, speak of the feel¬ 
ings existing under such circumstances as emotions of 
grandeur. At last it expands and disappears in the im¬ 
mensity of the ocean: the vast illimitable world of bil¬ 
lows flashes in his sight. Then the emotion, widening 
and strengthening with the magnitude and energy of the 
objects which accompany it, becomes sublime.—Emotions 
of sublimity, therefore, chiefly differ, at least in most in¬ 
stances, from those of beauty in being more vivid. 

§ 277. The occasions of the emotions of sublimity various. 

As the emotions of sublimity are simple, they are con¬ 
sequently undefinable. Nevertheless, as they are the di¬ 
rect subjects of our consciousness, we cannot be supposed 
to be ignorant of their nature. It may aid, however, in 
rendering our comprehension of them more distinct and 
clear in some respects, if we mention some of the occa¬ 
sions on which they arise.—But, before proceeding to do 
this, it is proper to recur a moment to a subject more fully 
insisted on in the chapter on Beauty, but which also prop¬ 
erly has a place here. We have reference to the unques¬ 
tionable fact, that the occasions of sublime emotions are 
not exclusively one; in other words, are not found in a 
single element merely, as some persons may be likely to 


302 


EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 


suppose, but, like those of beauty, are multiplied and va¬ 
rious. The measure of the sublimity of the object is the 
character of the emotion which it excites; and if the sub¬ 
lime emotion exists, as unquestionably it does on various 
occasions, this of itself is decisive as to the remark which 
has been made. Accordingly, the proper object before 
us, in the first instance, seems to be to indicate some of 
these occasions. 

§ 278. Great extent or expansion an occasion of sublimity. 

In endeavouring to point out some of the sources of 
sublimity, our first remark is, that the emotion of the sub¬ 
lime may arise in view of an object which is character¬ 
ized by vast extent or expansion; in other words, by the 
attribute of mere horizontal amplitude. Accordingly, it 
is with entire propriety that Mr. Stewart makes a remark 
to this effect, that a Scotchman, who had never witnessed 
anything of the kind before, would experience an emotion 
approaching to sublimity on beholding, for the first time, 
the vast plains of Salisbury and Yorkshire in England. 
Washington Irving also, in a passage of the Alhambra, 
has a remark to the same purport. “ There is something,” 
he observes, “ in the sternly simple features of the Span¬ 
ish landscape, that impresses on the soul a feeling of 
sublimity. The immense plains of the Castiles and La 
Mancha, extending as far as the eye can reach, derive an 
interest from their very nakedness and immensity, and 
have something of the solemn grandeur of the ocean.” 

In regard to the ocean, one of the most sublime objects 
which the human mind can contemplate, it cannot be 
doubted that one element of its sublimity is the unlimited 
expanse which it presents. 

$ 279. Great height an element or occasion of sublimity. 

Mere height, independently of considerations of expan¬ 
sion or extent, appears also to constitute an occasion of 
the sublime. Every one has experienced this, when 
standing at the base of a very steep and lofty cliff, hill 
or mountain. When, in the silence of night, we stand 
under the clear, open sky, we can hardly fail, as we look 
upward, to experience a sublime emotion, occasioned 


EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 


303 


partly by the immensity of the object, but also in part by 
its vast height. Travellers have often spoken of the sub¬ 
lime emotion occasioned by viewing the celebrated Nat¬ 
ural Bridge in Virginia from the bottom of the deep ra¬ 
vine over which it is thrown. This bridge is a single 
solid rock, about sixty feet broad, ninety feet long, and 
forty thick. It is suspended over the head of the specta¬ 
tor, who views it from the bottom of the narrow glen, at 
the elevation of two hundred and thirty feet; an immense 
height for such an object. It is not in human nature to 
behold, without strong feeling, such a vast vault of solid 
limestone, springing lightly into the blue upper air, and 
remaining thus outstretched, as if it were the arm of the 
Almighty himself, silent, unchangeable, eternal. 

$ 280. Of depth in connexion with the sublime. 

It is a circumstance confirmatory of the view, that it is 
impossible to resolve the grounds of sublimity into a sin¬ 
gle occasion or element, that we find the depth as well as 
the height of things, the downward as well as the upward, 
the antecedent and cause of this emotion. We are doubt¬ 
ful, however, whether depth is so decisively, as it is cer¬ 
tainly not so frequently a cause, as elevation or height ; 
which last, on account of its frequent connexion with their 
existence, has given the name to this class of feelings. 
But others may think differently. Mr. Burke has the fol¬ 
lowing passage on this point .—“ I am apt to imagine, that 
height is less grand than depth; and that we are more 
struck at looking down from a precipice than looking up 
at an object of equal height; but of that I am not very 
positive.” 

But, however this may be, there is no doubt that sub¬ 
lime emotions may arise from this cause. When we are 
placed on the summit of any high object, and look down¬ 
ward into the vast opening below, it is impossible not to 
be strongly affected. The sailor on the wide ocean, when, 
in the solitary watches of the night, he casts his eye up¬ 
ward to the lofty, illuminated sky, has a sublime emotion; 
and he feels the same strong sentiment stirring within 
him when, a moment afterward, he thinks of the vast, un¬ 
fathomable abyss beneath him, over which he is suspended 
by the frail plank of his vessel. 




304 


EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 


$ 281. Of colours in connexion with the sublime. 

The colours also, as well as the form of bodies, may, 
to a limited extent, furnish the occasion of sublime emo¬ 
tions. The lightning, when at a distance it is seen dart¬ 
ing to the earth in one continuous chain of overpowering- 
brightness ; the red meteor shooting athwart the still, 
dark sky; the crimson Aurora Borealis, which occasion¬ 
ally diffuses the tints of the morning over the hemisphere 
of midnight, are sublime objects; and, although there are 
other elements which unite in forming the basis of the 
sublime emotion, it is probably to be ascribed, in part, to 
the richness and vividness of colours. What object is 
more sublimely impressive than the contrasted hues of the 
mingling fires and smoke of a burning volcano ? Dark¬ 
ness, particularly, is an element of the sublime. When 
the clouds are collecting together on some distinct and 
distant portion of the sky, how intently the eye fixes itself 
on those masses which wear the visage of the deepest 
gloom! Forests, and frowning cliffs, and mountains, and 
the wide ocean itself, and whatever other objects are sus¬ 
ceptible of sublimity, are rendered still more sublime by 
the shades and darkness that are sometimes made to pass 
over them. The poets of all countries have represented 
the Deity, the most sublime object of contemplation, as 
enthroned in the midst of darkness.—“ He bowed the 
heavens also, and came down; and darkness was under 
his feet. He made darkness his secret place; his pavil¬ 
ion round about were dark waters, and thick clouds of the 
skies.” 

$ 282. Of sounds as furnishing an occasion of sublime emotions. 

We find another element of the sublime in sounds of a 
certain description. There are some cries and voices of 
animals which are usually regarded as sublime. The roar 
of the lion, not only in the solitudes of his native deserts, 
but at all times, partakes of the character of sublimity. 
The human voice, in combination with a suitable number 
of other voices, is capable of uttering sublime sounds; 
and does, in fact, utter them in performing many of the 
works of the great masters and composers of music. 
There is no small degree of sublimity in the low, deep 


EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY* 


305 


murmur of the organ, independently of the moral and re¬ 
ligious associations connected with it. It is presumed no 
one will doubt, that the trumpet, in the hands of a skilful 
performer, is capable of originating sublime sounds. Al¬ 
most every one must have noticed a peculiarly impressive 
sound sent forth by a large and compact forest of pines, 
when waved by a heavy wind, which obviously has the 
same character. The heavy and interminable sound of the 
ocean, as it breaks upon the shore, is sublime; and hardly 
less so the ceaseless voice of the congregated waters of 
some vast cataract. To these instances may be added 
the sound of a cannon, not only when it comes from the 
field of battle, but at any time; and still more the 
mighty voice of thunder. The latter sound is often men¬ 
tioned in the Scriptures, in connexion with the attributes 
of the Supreme Being, and apparently for the purpose 
of heightening the idea of his sublimity. “ The Lord 
also thundered in the heavens, and the Highest gave his 
voice.”—“ The voice of the Lord is upon the waters ; the 
God of glory thundereth.” 

We leave this part of the subject with introducing a 
remark from Coleridge, which goes to confirm the general 
doctrine of the sublimity of some sounds. He had been 
saying something of the scenery of the lake of Ratze- 
burg, when he adds: “About a month ago, before the 
thaw came on, there was a storm of wind. During the 
whole night, such were the thunders and howhng;s of the 
breaking ice, that they left a conviction on my mind that 
there are sounds more sublime than any sight can be, more 
absolutely suspending the power of comparison, and more 
utterly absorbing the mind’s self-consciousness m its total 
attention to the object working upon it.’ * 

$ 283. Of motion in connexion with the sublime. 

It will be noticed, from the train of thought which has 
been pursued, that there is a close analogy between beau¬ 
ty and sublimity, not only in the feelings winch are origi¬ 
nated, but also in the occasions of their origin. As the 
sentiments of beauty were found to be connected not 
only with the forms of objects, but also with colours and 
* The Friend, Am. ed., page 323. 

C c 2 


306 


EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 


sounds, so also are those of sublimity. And further¬ 
more, as we found beauty connecting itself with certain 
kinds of motion, we find motion the basis likewise, in 
some of its modifications, of ei^otions of the sublime. 

We often experience, for instance, emotions of sublim¬ 
ity in witnessing objects that move with great swiftness. 
This is one source of the feelings we have at beholding 
bodies of water rushing violently down a cataract. For 
the same reason, although there are undoubtedly other el¬ 
ements of the emotions we feel, the hurricane, that hastens 
onward with irresistible velocity, and lays waste whatev¬ 
er it meets, is sublime. And here also we find a cause of 
part of that sublime emotion which men have often felt, 
on seeing at a distance the electric fluid darting from the 
cloud to the earth, and at witnessing the sudden flight 
of a meteor. 

$ 284. Indications of power accompanied by emotions of the sublime. 

The contemplation of mental objects, as well as of ma¬ 
terial, may be attended with this species of emotion. 
Power, for instance, is an attribute of mind, and not of 
matter, and the exhibition of it is frequently sublime. It 
is hardly necessary to say, in making this remark, that 
power is not anything which is addressed directly to the 
outward senses; but is rather presented to the mind as an 
object of inward suggestion. Nevertheless, the causes of 
this suggestion may exist in outward objects; and, when¬ 
ever this is the case, the feelings with which we contem¬ 
plate such objects are generally increased. In other 
words, whatever sublimity may characterize an object, if, 
in addition to its other sublime traits, it strongly suggests 
to us the idea of power, the sublime feeling is more or less 
heightened by* this suggestion. 

Nothing can be more sublime than a volcano, throwing 
out from its bosom clouds, and burning stones, and im¬ 
mense rivers of lava. And it is unquestionable, that the 
sublime emotion is attributable, in part, to the over¬ 
whelming indications of power which are thus given. 
An earthquake is sublime; not only in its mightier efforts 
of destruction, but hardly less so in those slighter trem¬ 
blings and heavings of the earth, which indicate the foot- 


EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 


307 


steps of power rather than of ruin. The ocean, greatly- 
agitated with a storm, and tossing the largest navies as 
if in sport, possesses an increase of sublimity, on account 
1 of the more striking indications of power which it at 
such a time gives. The shock of large armies also, which 
concentrates the most terrible exhibition of human ener- 
- gy, is attended with an increased sublimity for the same 
reason. But in all these instances, as in most others, the 
sublime emotion cannot be ascribed solely to one cause; 
something is to be attributed to vast extent; something 
to the original effect of the brilliancy or darkness of col- 
, ours; and something to feelings of dread and danger. 

i) 285. Of the original or primary sublimity of objects. 

If there be a connexion between the beautiful and 
sublime; if beauty, grandeur, and sublimity are only 
names for various emotions, not so much differing in kind 
as in degree, essentially the same views which were ad¬ 
vanced in respect to beauty will hold here. It will fol¬ 
low, if the contemplation of some objects is attended 
with emotions of beauty, independently of associated feel¬ 
ings ; or, in other words, if they have a primary or origi¬ 
nal beauty, that there are objects also originally sublime. 
Hence we may conclude, that whatever has great height, 
or great depth, or vast extent, or other attributes of the 
sublime, will be able to excite in us emotions of sublimi¬ 
ty of themselves, independently of the subordinate or 
secondary aid arising from any connnected feelings. 

$ 286. Considerations in proof of the original sublimity of objects. 

It may be inferred, that there is such primary or origi¬ 
nal sublimity in some objects, not only in view of the 
connexion which has been stated to exist between the 
beautiful and sublime, but because it is no doubt agreea¬ 
ble to the common experience of men. But, in resting 
the proposition (where undoubtedly it ought to rest) on 
experience, we must inquire, as in former chapters, into 
the feelings of the young. And this for the obvious rea¬ 
son, that, when persons are somewhat advanced in age, 
it is difficult to separate the primary from the secondary 
or associated sublimity. They have then become in ex- 



EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 


tricably mingled together.—Now take a child, and place 
him suddenly on the shores of the ocean, or in full sight 
of darkly wooded mountains of great altitude, or before 
the clouds, and fires, and thunders of volcanoes; and, in 
most cases, he will be filled with sublime emotions; his 
mind will swell at the perception; it will heave to and 
fro like the ocean itself in a tempest. His eye, his coun¬ 
tenance, his gestures, will indicate a power of internal 
feeling, which the limited language he can command is 
unable to express. This may well be stated as a fact, 
because it has been frequently noticed by those who are 
competent to observe. 

Again, if a person can succeed in conveying to a child, 
by means of words, sublime ideas of whatever kind, sim¬ 
ilar emotions will be found to exist, although generally 
in a less degree than when objects are directly presented 
to the senses. 

There is an incident in the life of Sir William Jones 
which will serve to illustrate this statement. “ In his fifth 
year, as he was one morning turning over the leaves of a 
Bible in his mother’s closet, his attention was forcibly ar¬ 
rested by the sublime description of the angel in the tenth 
chapter of the Apocalypse; and the impression which his 
imagination received from it was never effaced. At a 
period of mature judgment, he considered the passage as 
equal in sublimity to any in the inspired writers, and far 
superior to any that could be produced from mere human 
compositions; and he was fond of retracing and men¬ 
tioning the rapture which he felt when he first read it.” 
The passage referred to is as follows. “And I saw 
another mighty angel come down from heaven, clothed 
with a cloud; and a rainbow was upon his head, and his 
face was as it were the sun, and his feet as pillars of 
fire.”* ^ 

$ 287. Influence of association on emotions of sublimity. 

Granting, therefore, that sublime emotions are in part 
original, still it is unquestionably true that a considerable 
share of them is to be attributed to association. As an 
illustration, we may refer to the effects of sounds. When 

* Teignmouth’s Life of Sir William Jones, Am. ed., page 14. 




EMOTIONS OF THE LUDICROUS. 


309 


a sound suggests ideas of danger, as the report of artille¬ 
ry and the howling of a storm; when it calls up recol¬ 
lections of mighty power, as the fall of a cataract and 
the rumbling of an earthquake, the emotion of sublimity 
i which we feel is greatly increased by such suggestions. 
Few simple sounds are thought to have more of sublimi¬ 
ty than the report of a cannon ; but how different, how 
i much greater the strength of feeling than on other occa- 
| sions, whenever we hear it coming to us from the fields of 
( actual conflict! Many sounds, which are in themselves 

I inconsiderable, and are not much different from many oth¬ 
ers to which we do not attach the character of sublimity, 
become highly sublime by association. There is frequent¬ 
ly a low, feeble sound preceding the coming of a storm, 
which has this character. 

“ Along the woods, along the moorish fens, 

Sighs the sad genius of the coming storm, 

Resounding long in fancy’s listening ear.” 

Thompson’s Winter . 

It is sometimes the case, that people, whose sensibilities 
are much alive to thunder, mistake for it some common 
sounds, such as the noise of a carriage or the rumbling 
of a cart. While they are under this mistake they feel 
these sounds as sublime; because they associate with 
them all those ideas of danger and of mighty power 
which they customarily associate with thunder. The hoot 
of the owl at midnight is sublime chiefly by association; 
also the scream of the eagle, heard amid rocks and des¬ 
erts. The latter is particularly expressive of fierce and 
lonely independence; and both are connected in our 
remembrance with some striking poetical passages. 


CHAPTER V. 

EMOTIONS OF THE LUDICROUS. 

$ 288. General nature of emotions of the ludicrous. 

In prosecuting the general subject of emotions, we are 
next to consider another well-known class, which are of 






310 


EMOTIONS OF THE LUDICROUS. 


a character somewhat peculiar, viz., emotions of the ludi~ \ 
crous. 

It is difficult to give a precise definition of this feeling, 
although the same may be said of it as in respect to emo- I 
tions of beauty, that it is a pleasant or delightful one. 
But the pleasure which we experience receives a peculiar 
modification, and one which cannot be fully conveyed in 
words, in consequence of our perception of some incon¬ 
gruity in the person or thing which is the cause of it.— 

In this case, as in many other inquiries in mental philoso- j 
phy, we are obliged to rely chiefly on our own conscious- j 
ness and our knowledge of what takes place in ourselves. 

$ 289. Occasions of emotions of the ludicrous. 

It may, however, assist us in the better understanding 
of them, if we say something of the occasions on which 
the emotions of the ludicrous are generally found to arise. 
And, among other things, it is exceedingly clear, that this 
feeling is never experienced, except when we notice 
something, either in thoughts, or in outward objects and 
actions, which is unexpected and uncommon. That is to 
say, whenever this emotion is felt, there is always an un¬ 
expected discovery by us of some new relations.—But 
then it must be observed, that the feeling in question does 
not necessarily exist in consequence of the discovery of 
such new relations merely. Something more is necessary, 
as may be very readily seen. 

Thus we are sometimes, in the physical sciences, pre¬ 
sented with unexpected and novel combinations of the 
properties and qualities of bodies. But whenever we 
discover in those sciences relations in objects, which 
were not only unknown, but unsuspected, we find no emo¬ 
tion of ludicrousness, although we are very pleasantly 
surprised. Again, similes, metaphors, and other like fig¬ 
ures of speech imply in general some new and unexpect¬ 
ed relations of ideas. It is this trait in them which gives 
them their chief force. But when employed in serious 
compositions, they are of a character far from being ludi¬ 
crous. 

Hence we infer, that emotions of ludicrousness do not 
exist on the discovery of new and unexpected relations, 




EMOTIONS OP THE LUDICROUS. 


311 


unless there is at the same time a perception, or supposed 
perception, of some incongruity or unsuitableness. Such 
perception of unsuitableness may be expected to give to 
the whole emotion a new and specific character, which 
every one is acquainted with from his own experience, 
but which, as before intimated, it is difficult to express in 
\i T ords. 

§ 290. Of what is understood by wit. 

The subject of emotions of the ludicrous is closely con¬ 
nected with what is termed Wit. This last-named sub¬ 
ject, therefore, which it is of some importance to under¬ 
stand, naturally proposes itself for consideration in this 
place. In regard to wit, as the term is generally under¬ 
stood at the present time, there is ground to apprehend, 
that an emotion of the ludicrous is always, in a greater 
or less degree, experienced in every instance of it. 

This being the case, we are led to give this definition, 
viz.: Wit consists in suddenly presenting to the mind an 
assemblage of related ideas of such a kind as to occasion 
feelings of the ludicrous.—This is done in a variety of 
ways 3 and, among others, in the two following. 

§ 291. Of wit as it consists in burlesque or in debasing objects. 

The first method which wit employs in exciting the 
feelings of the ludicrous, is by debasing those things 
which are grand and imposing; especially those which 
have an appearance of greater weight, and gravity, and 
splendour than they are truly entitled to. Descriptions 
of this sort are termed burlesque. 

An attempt to lessen what is truly and confessedly se¬ 
rious and important, has, in general, an unpleasant effect, 
very different from that which is caused by true wit. And 
yet it is the case, that objects and actions truly great and 
sublime may sometimes be so coupled with other objects, 
or be represented in such new circumstances, as to excite 
very different feelings from what they would otherwise. 

In the practice of burlesque, as on all other occasions 
of wit, there is a sudden and uncommon assemblage of 
related ideas. Sometimes this assemblage is made by 
means of a formal comparison. Take, as an instance, the 
following comparison from Hudibras: 





312 


EMOTIONS OF THE LUDICROUS. 


“ And now had Phoebus in the lap 
Of Thetis taken out his nap; 

And, like a lobster boiled, the morn 
From black to red began to turn.” 

We find illustrations of burlesque also in those instan-! 
ces where objects of real dignity and importance are 
coupled with things mean and contemptible, although 
there is no direct and formal comparison made. As in 
this instance from the above-mentioned book: 

“ For when the restless Greeks sat down 
So many years before Troy-town, 

And were renowned, as Homer writes, 

For well-soled boots no less than fights.’’ 

In these instances we have related ideas. In the first, j 
there is undoubtedly an analogy between a lobster and 
the morning, in the particular of its turning from dark to 
red. But however real it may be, it strikes every one as 
a singular and unexpected resemblance. In the other 
passage, it is not clear that Butler has done anything 
more than Homer, in associating the renown of the Greeks 
with their boots as well as their valour. But to us of the 
present day the connexion of ideas is hardly less uncom¬ 
mon and singular, not to say incongruous, than in the 
former. 


$ 292. Of wit when employed in aggrandizing objects. 

The second method which wit employs in exciting 
emotions of the ludicrous, is by aggrandizing objects 
which are in themselves inconsiderable. This species of 
wit may be suitably termed mock-majestic or mock-heroic 
While the former kind delights in low expressions, this is 
the reverse, and chooses learned words and sonorous 
combinations. In the following spirited passage of Pope, 
the writer compares dunces to gods, and Grub-street to 
heaven: 

‘ As Berecynthia, while her offspring vie 
In homage to the mother of the sky, 

Surveys around her in the bless’d abode 
A hundred sons, and every son a god ; 

Not. with less glory mighty Dulness crowned, 

Shall take through Grub-street her triumphant round • 

And her Parnassus glancing o’er at once, 

Behold a hundred sons, and each a dunce.” 



EMOTIONS OF THE LUDICROUS. 313 

In this division of wit are to be included those instan¬ 
ces where grave and weighty reflections are made on 
mere trifles. In this case, as in others, the ideas are in 
some respects related, or have something in common; 
hut the grouping of them is so singular and unexpected, 
that we cannot observe it without considerable emotion. 

“My galligaskins, that have long withstood 
The winter’s fury and encroaching frosts, 

By time subdued, (what will not time subdue !) 

A horrid chasm disclose.” 

But it is not to be supposed that wit is limited to the 
methods of assembling together incongruous ideas which 
have just been referred to. A person of genuine wit ex¬ 
cites emotions of the ludicrous in a thousand ways, and 
which will be so diverse from each other, that it will be 
found exceedingly difficult to subject them to any rules. 

() 293. Of the character and occasions of humour. 

Closely connected with the general subject of ludicrous 
emotions and of wit, is that of Humour. It is well known 
that we often apply the terms humour and humorous to 
descriptions of a particular character, whether written or 
given in conversation, and which may be explained as 
follows. 

It so happens that we frequently find among men what 
seems to us a disproportion in their passions; for instance, 
when they are noisy and violent, but not durable. We 
find inconsistencies, contradictions, and disproportions in 
their actions. They have their foibles, (hardly any one 
is without them,) such as self-conceit, caprice, foolish 
partialities, and jealousies.—Such incongruities in feeling 
and action cause an emotion of surprise, like an unex¬ 
pected combination of ideas in wit. Observing them, as 
we do, in connexion with the acknowledged high traits 
and responsibilities of human nature, we can no more re¬ 
frain from an emotion of the ludicrous, than we can on 
seeing a gentleman of fine clothes and high dignity ma¬ 
king a false step and tumbling into a gutter. A person 
who can seize upon these specialities in temper and con¬ 
duct, and set them forth in a lively and exact manner, is 
called a man of humour; and his descriptions are termed 
humorous descriptions. 






314 INSTANCES OF OTHER SIMPLE EMOTIONS. 


§ 294. Of the practical utility of feelings of the ludicrous. 

It is not impossible that the feelings which we have: 
examined in this chapter may have the appearance, to 
some minds, of being practically useless. If this were 
the fact, it would be at variance with the economy of the 
mind in other respects ; which gives evidence everywhere 
that its original tendencies are ingrafted upon it for some 
practical ends. But it is not so. The feeling of the lu¬ 
dicrous (or, as it is sometimes called, the sense of ridicule) 
is attended with results which, although they may not be 
perfectly obvious at first, will be found, on a little exam¬ 
ination, to be of no small moment. It is entirely clear, 
that it constitutes one of the important guides and aids 
which nature has appointed of human conduct. Scarcely 
any one is willing to undergo ridicule, even in its milder 
and more acceptable forms; much less to subject himself 
to the “ world’s dread laugh.” And many persons would 
be less attentive to the decencies and proprieties of per¬ 
sonal conduct, and of the intercourse of life, than they are 
in fact, were it not for the fear of this species of retribu¬ 
tion. It is true it is not powerful enough, nor is it the 
appropriate instrument to attack the more marked de¬ 
pravities incident to our nature, the strongholds of its 
sin; but it is unquestionably an effective and useful agent 
in its application to whatever is mean, incongruous, and 
unseemly.—See, in connexion with this subject, Camp¬ 
bell’s Philosophy of Rhetoric, bk. i., ch. iii., and Beattie 
on Laughter and Ludicrous Compositions. 


CHAPTER VI. 

INSTANCES OF OTHER SIMPLE EMOTIONS. 

$ 295. Emotions of cheerfulness, joy, and gladness. 

Under the general head of Emotions there are many 
other simple feelings which merit some attention. Al¬ 
though they are, perhaps, not less essential to our nature, 
and not less important than those which have been al¬ 
ready attended to, we do not find so many difficulties in 




INSTANCES OF OTHER SIMPLE EMOTIONS. 315 

their examination, and but a few remarks will be want¬ 
ing to explain them. 

We begin with the emotion of cheerfulness. Of the 
nature of this feeling none can be supposed to be igno¬ 
rant. It exists, in a greater or less degree, throughout the 
whole course of our life. It is seen in the benignant 
looks, and is heard in the garrulity of old age; it sheds 
its consolations over the anxieties and toils of manhood, 
and reigns with a sort of perpetual spring in youth. 

The words joy and delight express a high degree of 
cheerfulness; the feeling is the same; the difference is in 
its greater intensity. The word gladness is nearly synon¬ 
ymous with these last, but seems to be applied particu¬ 
larly when the joy is of a more sudden and less permanent 
character. 

$ 296. Emotions of melancholy, sorrow, and grief. 

While there are many things in life which are fitted to 
make us cheerful and happy, every one must know that 
for wise purposes a degree of bitterness is mingled in our 
cup, and that circumstances occur from time to time 
which are of an opposite tendency. And these prove to 
us occasions of melancholy, which is the name of another 
specific simple emotion. 

There are different degrees of this emotion, as well as 
of that of cheerfulness. We sometimes express the very 
slightest degree of it by the words uneasiness or discon¬ 
tent. When the feeling of melancholy is from any cir¬ 
cumstance greatly increased, we usually give it the name 
of sorrow ; so that sorrow seems to hold nearly the same 
relation to melancholy that joy does to cheerfulness. 

The word grief also has nearly the same relation to 
sorrow that gladness has to joy. As far as the mere feel¬ 
ing is concerned which they represent, the two words 
grief and sorrow may be regarded as synonymous with 
each other ; with this exception, that the term grief is 
commonly employed when the sorrow exists suddenly 
and with great strength. Hence grief sometimes shows 
itself by external signs, and even in frantic transports; 
while sorrow, even when it is deeply rooted, is more tacit, 
enduring, and uncommunicative. 







316 INSTANCES OF OTHER SIMPLE EMOTIONS. 


$ 297. Emotions of surprise, astonishment, and wonder. 

Whenever anything novel and unexpected presents it¬ 
self to our notice, whether in nature or in ordinary events, 
we experience a new simple emotion, distinct from any 
which has hitherto been mentioned, which we call a feel¬ 
ing of surprise .—The word astonishment , which we* fre¬ 
quently use, does not express a different emotion, but the 
same emotion in a different degree. When the feeling is 
exceedingly strong, it seems to suspend, for a time, the 
whole action of the mind; and we say of a person in such 
a situation, not merely that he is surprised, but is aston¬ 
ished or amazed. 

When the facts or events which occasion the surprise 
are of such a singular and complicated character as to 
induce us to dwell upon them for a length of time, the 
feeling arising is then often called wonder. It is not, 
however, a different emotion from what we ordinarily 
call surprise, but the same emotion, modified by different 
circumstances. 

It may be added here, that this emotion is highly im¬ 
portant to our preservation, security, and improvement. 
It is in new circumstances, in untried and unexplored sit¬ 
uations, that we are particularly required to be upon our 
guard, since we know not what effects may attend them, 
nor whether these effects may prove good or evil to us. 
Happily for us, the emotion of surprise and astonishment 
which we experience at such times is very vivid, so much 
so as to arrest for a time both our perceptions and our 
conduct, and to compel us to pause and consider where 
we are and what is to be done. 

$ 298. Emotions of dissatisfaction, displeasure, and disgust. 

There is another emotion which approaches very near 
to the feeling of melancholy, and still slightly differs from 
it, which we express by the term dissatisfaction. It is a 
painful feeling, though only in a small degree; but its 
nature, like that of other simple emotions, cannot be fully 
understood, except by a reference to the testimony of our 
own inward experience. 

When from any circumstance the emotion of dissatis¬ 
faction exists in an increased degree, we often express 



INSTANCES OF OTHER SIMPLE EMOTIONS. 317 

1 this difference, although the nature of the feeling remains 
the same, by another term, that of displeasure. 

There appear to be other forms of the simple feeling 
of dissatisfaction. The feeling of disgust is the emotion 
of dissatisfaction, existing in an increased degree, but un- 
■ der such circumstances as to distinguish it, in the view of 
our consciousness, from the feeling of displeasure. The 
latter feeling approximates more closely to an emotion of 
hostility to the cause of it than the former. The terms 
are sometimes used together, and yet not as perfectly 
synonymous; as when we say, that, on a certain occasion, 
we were both displeased and disgusted. 

§ 299. Emotions of diffidence, modesty, and shame. 

There is an emotion, often indicated outwardly by 
a half-averted look, and shyness, and awkwardness of 
manner, expressed by the term diffidence. An interesting 
t modification of this feeling, as we suppose it to be, is 
modesty; differing from diffidence -perhaps slightly in 

• kind or nature, but probably only in degree. Although 
. this feeling attracts but little notice in the genealogy of 

• our mental operations, and occupies but a small space in 
r its description, it is important in its results. It combines 
i, its influences in connexion with the natural desire of re- 
. gard or esteem, in keeping men in their place, and in 
t thus sustaining that propriety of conduct, and those gra- 

1 dations of honour and of duty, which are so essential to 
r the existence and the happiness of society. 

2 A higher degree of this mental state is shame. When 
we find ourselves involved in any marked improprieties 
of conduct, this feeling exists; characterized outwardly 
by a downcast eye and a flushed countenance. It is 

r not, however, exclusively attendant upon guilt; although 
l guilt, among other consequences flowing from it, is in 
i part punished in this way. But it seems to be, rather, an 
; appropriate punishment, attendant on those minor viola- 
r tions of decency and order which may exist without an 
' infringement on morals. 

$ 300. Emotions of regard, reverence, and adoration. 

i Different from all the feelings which have now been 
D d 2 




318 INSTANCES OF OTHER SIMPLE EMOTIONS. 


mentioned is the emotion of regard or respect, which, in 
its simplest form, at least, we exercise towards the great 
mass of our fellow-beings. The mere fact that they are 
creatures of God, and are possessed of intellectual and 
moral powers like our own, is deemed sufficient to lay the 
foundation of the exercise of this feeling towards them. 

When we observe in any individuals marked traits of 
mental excellence, as wisdom, truth, and justice, espe¬ 
cially when these traits are expanded and exalted by 
great age, the feeling of respect which we exercise in or¬ 
dinary cases is heightened into reverence. Every country 
can boast of a few such men, the just objects of the 
deepened regard of reverence; and the eyes of success¬ 
ive generations have been turned with the same deep 
feelings towards those w T ho are scattered along in various 
places in the long tract of history. 

When the reverence or veneration is free from every 
inferior intermixture; in other words, when the object of it 
is regarded as without weakness, and possessed of every 
possible perfection, it then becomes adoration ; a homage 
of the soul so pure and exalted that it properly belongs. 
only to the Supreme Being. The wisdom of {he wisest 
men is often perplexed with errors ; the goodness of the 
best of men is marred by occasional infirmities; how 
much deeper, therefore, and purer, and more elevated, 
will be our sentiments of veneration, when directed to¬ 
wards Him whose wisdom never fails, and who is not 
only just and kind in his administrations, but the original 
and inexhaustible source of beneficence and rectitude ! 

We conclude here the examination of the Emotions. 
We would not pretend that this part of our sentient na¬ 
ture has been fully explored in the views which have 
been taken; but would hope that so much has been said 
as to throw some satisfactory light upon it, and to leave 
us at liberty to turn to another class of subjects. 


THE SENSIBILITIES. 


PART FIRST. 

NATURAL OR PATHEMATIC SENSIBILITIES. 
NATURAL OR PATHEMATIC SENTIMENTS. 


CLASS SECOND. 


THE DESIRES. 












CHAPTER I. 


NATURE OF DESIRES. 

$ 301. Of the prevalence of desire in this department of the mind. 

We now proceed to enter upon a separate portion 
of the Natural or Pathematic Sensibilities, distinguished 
from that which has hitherto received our attention by the 
possession of its appropriate nature, and by sustaining its 
distinct and appropriate relations. The characteristic el¬ 
ement of this region of the Natural Sensibilities, that 
which'in fact constitutes the basis of its existence, is the 
state of mind, distinct from all others, which we denom¬ 
inate desire. This state of mind not only stands at the 
threshold of the department which we now enter upon, 
but diffuses abroad its influence, and runs through, and 
gives a character to, all the subordinate divisions into 
which this part of the Pathematic nature will be found 
to resolve itself. No appetite, no propensity, or affection 
exists in fact, nor can we suppose it possible for them to 
exist, exclusively of any intermixture of the ingredient of 
desire.— It is for this reason that we denominate this por¬ 
tion of the sensitive nature Desires, as we called the oth¬ 
er Emotions; and as we sometimes speak of the emotive 
sensibilities, so we might, with no impropriety, speak of 
the desirous or desiring sensibilities. 

§ 302. The nature of desires known from consciousness. 

As desires occupy so prominent a place in those prin¬ 
ciples of the mind which we now propose to give some 
account of, it is proper to delay here, in order briefly to 
attempt some explanation of their nature. And, in do¬ 
ing this, we are obliged, in the first place, to repeat the 
remark already often made, that we must turn the acts of 
the mind inward upon itself, and consult the intimations 
of our own consciousness. We do not suppose that any 
definition of desire, inasmuch as it is obviously a simple 
state of the mind, could possibly throw any such light 



322 


NATURE OF DESIRES. 


upon it as to preclude the necessity of an internal refer¬ 
ence. It is the light of the mind, if we will but turn our 
eyes to behold it, and that alone, which can truly indicate 
what may be called the essentiality of its nature.—At 
the same time, while we must obviously^consult conscious¬ 
ness for a knowledge of its distinctive character, we may 
probably render our conceptions of it more distinct and 
perfect, by considering some of the circumstances or inci¬ 
dents of its origin, and some of the relations it sustains. 

§ 303. Of the place of desires in relation to other mental states. 

It is important to possess a well-settled and definite idea 
of the place of Desires, considered in relation to other 
mental states; especially as a thorough understanding of 
this point throws light upon the important subject 6f the 
philosophy of the Will.—(1.) And the first remark to be 
made here is, that desires never follow, in direct and im¬ 
mediate sequence, to intellections or the cognitive acts of 
the mind. There is a distinct department or portion of the 
mind, located , if we may be permitted to use that expres¬ 
sion, between the intellect and the mental states under 
consideration. It requires no further proof than the simple 
statement itself when we say that we never desire a thing, ; 
simply because we perceive it or have a knowledge of it. 
The mere perception of a thing is of itself no adequate 
reason why we should make the thing an object of pur¬ 
suit. There must obviously be some intermediate state of 
the mind, existing as the proximate and causative occa¬ 
sion of desires, viz., an emotion. Accordingly, the pre¬ 
requisite condition to desire is some antecedent feeling, 
generally of a pleasurable nature, which intervenes be¬ 
tween the desire, and the perception or knowledge of the 
desired object. 

(2.) In illustration of what has been said, it is the fact, 
that, whenever we desire the presence or possession of an 
object, it is because we are in some way pleased with it. 
Whenever, on the other hand, we desire its removal from 
our presence, it is because we are in some way displeas¬ 
ed with it. And these expressions, indicative of pleas¬ 
ure or displeasure, obviously involve the existence of 
that distinct state of the mind which we denominate an 



NATURE OF DESIRES. 323 

emotion ; a state of feeling entirely different both from the 
perception of the object which goes before such emotion, 
and the desire of the object which follows after it. Ac- 
I cordingly, we may feel at liberty to state, in general terms, 

; that no man ever desired an object, or could by any pos¬ 
sibility desire it, in regard to which he had experienced 
no emotion, but had always been in a state of perfect in- 
differency. Such, in the matter under consideration, is 
obviously the fixed law of the mind. 

$ 304. The desires characterized by comparative fixedness and perma¬ 
nency. 

There is one mark or trait attending the feelings un¬ 
der consideration which appears to be worthy of notice. 
We refer to the fact, that the desires, as compared with 
the emotions, appear to possess a greater degree of fixed¬ 
ness or permanency. It is well known that our emotions 
rapidly go and come; sinking and rising on the mind’s 
j surface like the unfixed waves of a troubled sea. But 
the desires, which are subsequent to them in the time of 
their origin, and may be regarded as produced in, and as 
ji emerging from, the troubled waters of emotion, evidently 
! exhibit less facility and elasticity of movement. Having 
once entered their allotted position, although they are not 
absolutely immoveable, they occupy it with so much perti¬ 
nacity as to render it proper to regard this as one of their 
characteristics. 

There certainly can be no great effort necessary in un¬ 
derstanding the statement which has been made ; and no 
great difficulty, as we suppose, in recognising and sub¬ 
stantiating its truth. Take, for instance, the case of a 
man who is an exile in a foreign land, or of the unfortu¬ 
nate individual who is unjustly condemned to the occu¬ 
pancy of a prison; and they will assuredly tell you, that 
the desires they have to see once more the light of heav¬ 
en, their native land, and the countenances of their friends, 
sustains itself in their bosoms with a pertinacity which 
defies all change; and that they might as well rend away 
the fibres of the heart itself, as to separate from it a feel¬ 
ing so deeply rooted.'—We give this as an illustration j but 
it is more or less so in every case where the desires have 
decidedly fixed themselves upon any interesting object. 





324 


NATURE OF DESIRES. 


$ 305. Desires always imply an object desired. 

An additional characteristic of Desires is, that they al¬ 
ways have an object, generally a distinct and well-defined 
one; and cannot possibly exist without it. To speak of 
a desire, without involving the idea of an object desired, 
would be an anomaly in language. They differ in this 
respect from emotions ; which, although they have their 
antecedent causes or occasions, do not possess, in their 
own nature, a prospective or anticipative bearing, but 
terminate in themselves. Desires, on the contrary, are 
always pointing onward to what is to be hereafter. And 
this is probably one reason of their greater degree of fix¬ 
edness or permanency. The desires lean upon the objects 
which they have in view, as a sort of pillar of support; 
they may be said, with strict truth at the bottom of the 
expression, to cling around it as the vine encircles and 
rests itself upon the elm; and, of course, are not left 
loose and fluttering, which is substantially the case with 
the states of mind which immediately precede them, at 
the mercy of every passing wind. 

$ 306. The fulfilment of desires attended with enjoyment. 

As a general thing, it may be said of the emotions that 
they are either pleasant or painful, although, in some in¬ 
stances, even of those feelings it might not be easy to < 
predicate distinctly and confidently either the one or the 
other. And this last statement is true particularly of the i 
desires ; which, although they exist distinctly and well- 
defined in the view of the mind’s consciousness, and con¬ 
stitute a powerful motive to action, can hardly be said, for 
the time being, to involve, in their own nature, either i 
pleasure or its opposite. At any rate, we find it difficult, 
in ordinary cases, distinctly to detect either of these traits. 

But, however this may be, there is still another char¬ 
acteristic circumstance, which aids in distinguishing them 
from other mental states. It is this. Every desire, when 
the object towards which it is directed is attained, is at¬ 
tended with a degree of pleasure. It is absolutely in¬ 
separable from the nature of desire, that the acquisition of 
the object of its pursuit, whether that object be good or 
evil, will be followed by the possession of some enjoy- 





NATURE OF DESIRES. 


325 


ment. Sometimes the enjoyment is very great, at others 
less; varying generally with the intensity of the desire. 

$ 307. Of variations or degrees in the strength of the desires. 

There is this further statement to be made in reference 
to the Desires, applicable, however, to a multitude of 
other states of the mind, that they exist in different de¬ 
grees. As a general thing, they will be found to exist in 
a greater or less degree, in accordance with the greater 
or less vividness and strength of the antecedent emotions. 
The original cause, however, of these variations, making 
allowance for some occasional constitutional differences, 
is to be sought for in the intellect or understanding. The 
more distinctly we perceive or understand a thing, the 
more distinct and vivid, we may reasonably expect, will 
be our emotions. And as the Desires are based upon the 
emotions as the antecedent occasion or ground of their 
existence, they may, in like manner, be expected to ex¬ 
hibit, as has already been intimated, a vividness and 
strength, corresponding, in a very considerable degree, to 
that of the feelings which preceded them.—It will be 
noticed, that we do not speak here of the permanency of 
desires, which is a very different thing, but simply of their 
intensity or strength for the time being. 

$ 308. Tendency to excite movement an attribute of desire. 

We shall conclude this notice of the nature of desire 
with remarking that there is one other characteristic at¬ 
tribute which particularly distinguishes it, and which un¬ 
doubtedly must enter as an element into every perfect 
delineation of it. Such is the nature of desire, that it is 
of itself, in virtue of its own essence, a prompting, exci¬ 
ting, or, as Mr. Hobbes would term it, a motive state of 
the mind. In other words, its very existence involves the 
probability of action; it sets the mind upon the alert; it 
arouses the faculties, both mental and bodily, and places 
them in the attitude of movement.—It is true that the 
desire does not, in point of fact, always result in action. 
Before action can be consummated, another power, still 
more remote in the interior structure of the mind, must be 
consulted, that of the Will. If the Will decidedly oppo- 


326 


NATURE OF DESIRES. 


ses the desire, its tendency is, of course, frustrated in the 
object aimed at; but the tendency itself, although disap¬ 
pointed of its object, still remains. It is there, and can¬ 
not be otherwise than there,while the desire exists. 

This important tendency does not exist, as a general 
thing, in other departments of the mind. It does not ex¬ 
ist, for instance, in the cognitive or intellective part of the 
mind, in itself considered. If the intellect were insulated 
from the nature which is back of it, man would be a being 
of speculation merely, not of action. Nor does it exist in 
the emotions. If man were formed with the emotive sen¬ 
sibilities only, without the accompaniment of those ulterior 
sensibilities -which are built upon them, he would be as 
unmoved and inoperative as if he were constituted with 
the single attribute of perceptivity. He would be like a 
ship. anchored in the centre of the ocean, agitated and 
thrown up and down on the rising and falling billows, 
but wholly incapable of any movement in latitude or 
longitude. The tendency to excite movement, as an in¬ 
herent or essential characteristic, exists in the desires, and 
nowhere else, except in the corresponding portion of the 
moral sensibilities, viz., the feelings of moral obligation. 
The tendency in question belongs to these two mental 
states alike.—It is the office of the Will, as a separate 
and relatively a higher part of our nature, to act in refer¬ 
ence to this tendency, either in checking or aiding, in 
annulling or consummating it. 

§ 309. Classification of this part of the sensibilities. 

If we were called upon to consider the Desires in their 
simplest form only, we might perhaps feel at liberty to 
dismiss the subject with what has already been said. "But 
the circumstance that they are subject to various modifi T 
cations and combinations sets us upon a new field of in¬ 
quiry of great extent and interest. The Desires are some¬ 
times modified by being directed to particular ends. In 
other words, they are constituted with specific tendencies, 
from which they seldom vary. This is the case with the 
Instincts, properly so called; and probably not less so, in 
their original and unperverted action, with the Appetites. 
In regard to the Affections, a distinct class of the active or 



NATURE OF DESIRES. 


327 


sensitive principles which come under this general head, 
it seems, as far as we can judge, to be the fact, that the 
desires exist in a close and inseparable combination with 
certain emotions, and are thus made to assume an aspect 
which they would not otherwise possess. Accordingly, 
we have a basis, an ample and distinctly defined one, for 
a subordinate classification. And it is to the examination 
of the Desires, as they exist in this classification, that we 
now proceed; beginning with those which, in the grada¬ 
tions of regard we are naturally led to bestow upon them, 
are generally adjudged as lowest in point of rank, and 
proceeding upward to those which are higher. In ac¬ 
cordance with this plan, they will present themselves to 
notice, and be made the subject of distinct consideration, 
in the order of the Instincts, the Appetites, the Propensi¬ 
ties, and the Affections. 


§ 310. The principles, based upon desire, susceptible of a twofold 
operation. 

There is one important remark which is applicable to 
all the principles, with the exception of the Instincts, 
which now present themselves for examination. It is, 
that, with the exception just mentioned, they all have a 
twofold action, instinctive and voluntary. . This state¬ 
ment, of course, will not apply to the pure instincts; for 
the very idea of their being instincts, in the proper sense 
of the term, seems to imply an absolute exclusion of their 
being voluntary. But as we advance from the Instincts 
to the Appetites, and still upward to the Propensities and 
Affections, we find each and all of these important prin¬ 
ciples susceptible of being contemplated in this twofold 
aspect. Each, under circumstances of such a nature as 
to preclude inquiry and reflection, is susceptible of an in¬ 
stinctive action; and each, under other circumstances 
more favourable to the exercise of reasoning, is suscepti¬ 
ble of a deliberate or voluntary action.—-This remark is 
important in our estimate of these principles, considered 
in a moral point of view. 




3 28 


INSTINCTS. 


CHAPTER H. 

INSTINCTS. 

[ $ 311. Of instincts in man as compared with those of inferior animals. 

In proceeding to examine that part of our sensitive 
constitution which is comprehended under the general 
name of Desires, we naturally begin with instincts , which 
are nothing more than desires, existing under a particular 
and definite modification.—It is generally conceded, that 
there are in our nature some strong and invariable ten¬ 
dencies to do certain things, without previous forethought 
and deliberation, which bear that name. The actions of 
men are not always governed by feelings founded on rea¬ 
soning, but are sometimes prompted by quick and decisive 
impulses, which set themselves in array before reason has 
time to operate. It is from this circumstance that these 
mental tendencies or desires are termed instinctive; a 
word which implies, in its original meaning, a movement 
or action, whether mental or bodily, without reflection 
and foresight. 

Although such instinctive tendencies are undoubtedly 
found in men, it must be admitted that they are less fre¬ 
quent, and, in general, less effective, than in the lower 
animals. And, in truth, it could not be expected to be 
otherwise, when we remember that the brute creation are 
wholly destitute of the powers of abstraction and of rea¬ 
soning, or, at most, possess them only in a small degree. 
The provident oversight of the Supreme Being, without 
whose notice not a sparrow falleth to the ground, has met 
this deficiency by endowing them with instincts the most 
various in kind, and strikingly adapted to the exigences 
of their situation. We find the proofs of this remark in 
the nests of birds, in the ball of the silkworm, in the 
house of the beaver, in the return and flight of birds at 
their appointed seasons, and in a multitude of other in¬ 
stances. 


§ 312. Illustrations of the instincts of brute animals. 

It would be easy, by means of various interesting facts, 


INSTINCTS. 


329 


to illustrate the nature of the instinctive principle.—The 
philosopher Galen once took a kid from its dead mother 
by dissection, and, before it had tasted any food, brought 
it into a certain room, having many vessels full, some of 
wine, some of oil, some of honey, some of milk, or some 
other liquor, and many others filled with different sorts of 
grain and fruit, and there laid it. After a little time the 
embryon had acquired strength enough to get up on its 
feet; and it was with sentiments of strong admiration 
that the spectators saw it advance towards the liquors, 
fruit, and grain, which were placed round the room, and, 
having smelt all of them, at last sup the milk alone. 
About two months afterward, the tender sprouts of 
plants and shrubs were brought to it, and, after smelling 
all of them and tasting some, it began to eat of such as 
are the usual food of goats. 

The cells constructed by the united efforts of a hive of 
bees have often been referred to as illustrating the nature 
of instincts.—■“ It is a curious mathematical problem, 5 ’ 
says Dr. Reid, u at what precise angle the three planes 
which compose the bottom of a cell in a honey-comb 
ought to meet, in order to make the greatest saving or the 
least expense of material and labour. This is one of those 
problems belonging to the higher parts of mathematics, 
which are called problems of maxima and minima. It 
has been resolved by some mathematicians, particularly 
by the ingenious Mr. Maclaurin, by a fluxionary calcula¬ 
tion, which is to be found in the Transactions of the 
Royal Society of London. He has determined precisely 
the angle required; and he found, by the most exact men¬ 
suration the subject could admit, that it is the very angle 
in which the three planes in the bottom of the cell of a 
honey-comb do actually meet. 

“ Shall we ask here, who taught the bee the properties 
of solids, and to resolve problems of maxima and mini 
ma ? We need not say that bees know none of these 
things. They work most geometrically, without any 
knowledge of geometry; somewhat like a child, who, 
by turning the handle of an organ, makes good music 
without any knowledge of music. The art is not in the 
i child, but in him who made the organ. In like manner, 
E e 2 




330 


INSTINCTS. 


when a bee makes its comb so geometrically, the geome¬ 
try is not in the bee, but in that great Geometrician who 
made the bee, and made all things in number, weight, 
and measure.” 

$ 313. Instances of instincts in the human mind. 

But it is not our design to enter particularly into the 
subject of the instincts of animals in this place, although 
this topic is undoubtedly one of exceeding interest both 
to the philosopher and the Christian. Such inquiries are 
too diverse and remote from our main object, which has 
particular, if not exclusive, reference to the economy of 
human nature. There are certain instinctive tendencies 
in man, as well as in the inferior animals; but they are 
few in number ; and, compared with the other parts of 
his nature, are of subordinate importance. Some of them 
will now be referred to. 

(I.) The action of respiration is thought, by some wri¬ 
ters, to imply the existence of an instinct. We cannot 
suppose that the infant at its birth has learned the impor¬ 
tance of this act by reasoning upon it; and he is as ig¬ 
norant of the internal machinery which is put in opera¬ 
tion, as he is of its important uses. And yet he puts the 
whole machinery into action at the very moment of com¬ 
ing into existence, and with such regularity and success 
that we cannot well account for it, except on the ground 
of an instinctive impulse. 

(II.) “ By the same kind of principle,” says Dr. Reid, 
(Essays on the Active Powers, iii., chapter ii.,) “ a new¬ 
born child, when the stomach is emptied, and nature has 
brought milk into the mother’s breast, sucks and swallows 
its food as perfectly as if it knew the principles of that 
operation, and had got the habit of working according 
to them. 

“ Sucking and swallowing are very complex operations. 
Anatomists describe about thirty pairs of muscles that 
must be employed in every draught. Of those muscles, 
every one must be served by its proper nerve, and can 
make no exertion but by some influence communicated 
by the nerve. The exertion of all those muscles and 
nerves is not simultaneous. They must succeed each 



INSTINCTS, 


331 


other in a certain order, and their order is no less necessa¬ 
ry than the exertion itself.—This regular train of opera¬ 
tions is carried on, according to the nicest rules of art, 
by the infant, who has neither art, nor science, nor ex¬ 
perience, nor habit. 

“ That the infant feels the uneasy sensation of hunger, 
I admit; and that it sucks no longer than till this sensa¬ 
tion be removed. But who informed it that this uneasy 
sensation might be removed, or by what means 1 That 
it knows nothing of this is evident, for it will as readily 
suck a finger, or a bit of stick, as the nipple.” 

(III.) The efforts which men make for self-preserva¬ 
tion appear to be in part of an instinctive kind. If a 
man is in danger of falling from unexpectedly losing his 
balance, we say with much propriety that the instantane¬ 
ous effort he makes to recover his position is instinctive. 
If a person is unexpectedly and suddenly plunged into a 
river, the first convulsive struggle which he makes for his 
safety seems to be of the same kind. His reasoning 
powers may soon come to his aid, and direct his further 
measures for his preservation; but his first efforts are evi¬ 
dently made on another principle. When a violent blow 
is aimed at one, he instinctively shrinks back, although 
| he knew beforehand it would be aimed in sport, and al- 
though his reason told him there was no danger. 

$ 314. Further instances of instincts in men. 

(IV.) There is also a species of resentment which may 
properly be called instinctive. Deliberate resentment im¬ 
plies the exercise of reason, and is excited only by inten¬ 
tional injury. Instinctive resentment, on the other hand, 
operates whether the injury be intentional or not, and 
precisely as it does in the lower animals. 

When we experience pain which is caused by some ex- 
i ternal object, this feeling arises in the mind with a great¬ 
er or less degree of power, and prompts us to retaliate on 
the cause of it. A child, for instance, stumbles over a 
stone or stick of wood and hurts himself, and, under the 
I impulse of instinctive resentment, violently beats the un¬ 
conscious cause of its suffernig. Savages, when they have 
been struck by an arrow in battle, have been known to tear 


332 


INSTINCTS. 


it from the wound, break, and bite it with their teeth, and 
dash it on the ground, as if the original design and im¬ 
petus of destruction were in the arrow itself.—Similar 
views will apply, under certain circumstances, to many 
other active principles. 

(V.) There is undoubtedly danger of carrying the 
doctrine of the instinctive tendencies of the human mind j 
too far; but we may consider ourselves safe in adding to 
those which have been mentioned, the power of interpret¬ 
ing natural signs. Whenever we see the outward signs 
of rage, pity, grief, joy, or hatred, we are able immedi¬ 
ately to interpret them. It is abundantly evident that 
children, at a very early period, read and decipher, in 
the looks and gestures of their parents, the emotions and 
passions, whether of a good or evil kind, with which they 
are agitated. 

§ 315. Of the final cause or use of instincts. 

Although the instincts, as a general statement, com¬ 
mend themselves less decisively to our regard and admi¬ 
ration than some other portions of the mind, they still 
have their important uses. It seems, in particular, to be 
the design of the instinctive part of our nature to aid and 
protect us in those cases where reason cannot come sea¬ 
sonably to our aid. According as the reasoning powers 
acquire strength, and prepare themselves more and more 
for the various emergencies to which we are exposed, the 
necessity of instinctive aids is proportionally diminished. 
But there are some cases which the reasoning power can 
never reach; and, consequently, our whole protection is in 
instinct. 

It is evident, therefore, that they are a necessary part 
of our constitution; that they help to complete the men¬ 
tal system ; and although of subordinate power and value 
in man, compared with the inferior animals, they still 
have their worth. As the reasoning power predominates 
in man, so instincts predominate in the lower animals; 
and as we do not expect to find the glory of reasoning 
in brutes, so we should not expect to discover the full ex¬ 
cellence of instinctive powers in men; but should rather 
look for them in the insect and the worm, in the beasts of 






APPETITES. 


333 


the field, and the fishes of the sea, and the fowls of the 
air, dwelling in them as a part of their nature, and bless¬ 
ing while they control and guide them. 


CHAPTER III. 

APPETITES. 

§ 316. Of the general nature and characteristics of the appetites. 

Under the general head of Desires, the subject of ap¬ 
petites seems next to propose itself for consideration. 
But as it is one of limited extent, and of subordinate im¬ 
portance in a metaphysical point of view, only a few re¬ 
marks will be necessary. The arrangement, which brings 
the subject forward for discussion under the head of De¬ 
sires, will recommend itself on a very little attention. 
The prominent appetites are those of hunger and thirst ; 
but the appetite of hunger is nothing more than the desire 
for food; the appetite for thirst is a desire for drink. 

Nevertheless, they appear to be sufficiently distinguish¬ 
ed from the other desires. They are not like the instincts, 
always gratified in a certain fixed and particular manner; 
nor are they like them in being wholly independent of 
the reasoning power. On the contrary, they may be re¬ 
strained and regulated in some degree; and when it is 
otherwise, their demands may be quieted in various ways. 

But without dwelling upon such considerations, the 
statement has been made with much appearance of rea¬ 
son, that they are characterized by these three things.— 
(1.) They take their rise from the body, and are common 
to men with the brutes.—(2.) They are not constant in 
their operation, but occasional.—(3.) They are accompa¬ 
nied with an uneasy sensation. 

It may be remarked here, that the feeling of uneasiness 
now referred to appears always to precede the desire or 
appetite, and to be essential to it. 

$ 317. The appetites necessary to our preservation, and not originally 
of a selfish character. 

Although our appetites do not present much of inter- 





APPETITES. 


334 

est, considered as parts of our mental economy, they have 
their important uses, in connexion with the laws and re¬ 
quirements of our physical nature .— u The appetites of 
hunger and thirst,” says Stewart, “ were intended for the 
preservation of the individual; and without them reason 
would have been insufficient for this important purpose. 
Suppose, for example, that the appetite of hunger had 
been no part of our constitution, reason and experience 
might have satisfied us of the necessity of food to our 
preservation; but how should we have been able, with¬ 
out an implanted principle, to ascertain, according to the 
varying state of our animal economy, the proper seasons 
for eating, or the quantity of food that is salutary to the 
body 1 The lower animals not only receive this informa¬ 
tion from nature, but are, moreover, directed by instinct 
to the particular sort of food that it is proper for them 
to use in health and in sickness. The senses of taste and 
smell, in the savage state of our species, are subservient, 
at least in some degree, to the same purpose. 

“ Our appetites can with no propriety be called selfish, 
for they are directed to their respective objects as ultimate 
ends, and they must all have operated, in the first instance, 
prior to any experience of the pleasure arising from their 
gratification. After this experience, indeed, the desire 
of enjoyment will naturally come to be combined with the 
appetite; and it may sometimes lead us to stimulate or 
provoke the appetite with a view to the pleasure which 
is to result from indulging it. Imagination, too, and the 
association of ideas, together with the social affections, 
and sometimes the moral faculty, lend their aid, and all 
conspire together in forming a complex passion, in which 
the animal appetite is only one ingredient. In proportion 
as this passion is gratified, its influence over the conduct 
becomes the more irresistible, (for all the active determi¬ 
nations of our nature are strengthened by habit,) till at 
last we struggle in vain against its tyranny. A man so 
enslaved by his animal appetites exhibits humanity in one 
of its most miserable and contemptible forms.”* 

$318. Of the prevalence and origin of appetites for intoxicating drugs. 

There are not only natural appetites, but artificial or 
* Stewart’s Philosophy of the Moral and Active Powers, bk. ch. i. 


APPETITES. 


335 


acquired ones. It is no uncommon thing to find persons 
who have formed an appetite for ardent spirits, for to¬ 
bacco, for opium, and intoxicating drugs of various kinds. 
It is a matter of common remark, that the appetite for 
inebriating liquors, in particular, is very prevalent, espe¬ 
cially among Savage tribes.—And it may be proper briefly 
i to explain the origin of such appetites. 

Such drugs and liquors as have been referred to have 
the power of stimulating the nervous system, and by 
means of this excitement they cause a degree of pleasure. 
This pleasurable excitement is soon followed by a corre¬ 
sponding degree of languor and depression, to obtain re¬ 
lief from which resort is again had to the intoxicating 
draught or drug. This results not only in a restoration, 
but an exhilaration of spirits; which is again followed by 
depression' and distress. And thus resort is had, time after 
time, to the strong drink, the tobacco, the opium, or what¬ 
ever it is which intoxicates, until an appetite is formed 
so strong as to subdue, lead captive, and brutalize the 
subject of it. So that the only way to avoid the forming 
of such a habit, after the first erroneous step has been 
taken, is quietly to endure the subsequent unhappiness 
attendant on the pleasurable excitement of intoxication, 
till the system has time to recover itself, and to throw off 
its wretchedness by its own efforts. 

$ 319. Of the twofold operation and the morality of the appetites. 

In accordance with the remarks in the last section in 
the chapter on the Nature of desires, we may add here 
the general statement, that the operation of all the Appe¬ 
tites, of whatever kind, is twofold, instinctive and vol¬ 
untary. So far as they are directed to their objects as 
ultimate ends, without taking into consideration anything 
else, their operation is obviously analogous to that of the 
pure instincts. But after the first instance of their grati¬ 
fication, they may be instigated to subsequent action, not 
so much by a view of the ultimate object as of the pleas¬ 
ure accessory to its acquisition. And thus it sometimes 
happens, that their action, in view of the enjoyment before 
them, is turbulent and violent. Nevertheless, we may 
avail ourselves of the aid of other principles of the mind 


336 


PROPENSITIES. 


to subject them to a degree of restraint, to regulate, and, 
in a certain sense, to cultivate them. And, so far as this 
can be done, they are obviously susceptible of what may 
be called a voluntary action. 

And here is the basis of the morality of the appetites. 
So far as they are susceptible of a merely instinctive ac¬ 
tion, they cannot be said to possess any moral character, 
either good or bad. They are greatly useful in their 
place; but, in a moral point of view, are to be regarded 
simply as innocent. It is only so far as they are volun¬ 
tary, so far as they can be reached and controlled by the 
will, that they can, by any possibility, be morally good 
or evil, virtuous or vicious. So that virtue and vice, con¬ 
sidered in relation to the appetites, is located, not in the 
appetites themselves in their intrinsic nature, but in their 
exercises; and in those exercises only which are subor¬ 
dinate to the influence of the will. 


CHAPTER IV. 

' faff inn WPSH! 

PROPENSITIES. 

$ 320. General remarks on the nature of the propensities. 

As we advance further in the examination of this por¬ 
tion of the natural or pathematic sensibilities, we meet , 
with certain forms of Desire which are different from any j: 
we have hitherto attended to, and which accordingly re- i 
quire a distinct consideration. There is certainly no dan¬ 
ger of their being confounded with the Instincts, inas¬ 
much as they do not exhibit that fixedness and inflexible¬ 
ness of action which is usually characteristic of those 
states of mind. They differ from the Appetites also, 
first, because they are much less dependent for their ex¬ 
istence and exercise upon the condition of the body; 
and, secondly, because, in that comparative estimation 
which is naturally attached to the different active princi¬ 
ples of our nature, they confessedly hold a higher rank. 
At the same time they evidently, in the graduation of our 





PROPENSITIES. 


337 


l regard, fall below the Affections, besides being distin- 
s guished from them in some other respects. Hence we 
i may, with entire propriety, not only assign them a separ¬ 
ate and distinct position, but shall find a convenience in 

• designating them by a distinctive name.—Among the 

• Propensities (for this is the name which we propose to at- 
j tach to them) may be mentioned the principle of self- 
f preservation, or the desire of continued existence; curiosi- 
l ty, or the desire of knowledge; sociality, or the desire of 

■ society; self-love, or the desire of happiness; the desire of 
' esteem, the propensity to imitate, and some others. 

Although we have briefly indicated some of the cir¬ 
cumstances which separate the Propensities from the oth¬ 
er leading principles coming under this general head, it 
will be noticed that we have not attempted to give a 
statement of what they are in themselves. It is true, they 
are all based upon desire, and they all have some object. 
But whatever is intrinsic or specifically characteristic in 
their nature will be best learned from the considerations 
that will necessarily arise, as they pass successively under 
review. 

$ 321. Principle of self-preservation, or the desire of continued existence. 

The first of those original desires which we shall pro¬ 
ceed to notice may be denominated the principle of self- 
preservation, or the desire of a continuance of existence. 
—The proof of the existence of such a desire is not only 
abundant in what we see around us, but is so intimate 
also to our own consciousness, that it can hardly be ne¬ 
cessary to enter into details. (( All that a man hath will 
he give for his life,” was a sort of moral axiom in the 
earliest antiquity; and it stands as little in need of the 
verification of proof now as it did then. It is true that 
the principle may, in its practical operation, be over¬ 
come by the ascendant influence of other principles, by 
the mere desire of esteem, by the love of country, or by 
the sentiments of duty ; but, although annulled in its re¬ 
sults, it can hardly be said to be extinct in its nature. It 
still lingers, unextinguished and unextinguishable, in the 
foundations and depths of the mind. Hven in cases of 
suicide, the desire of the extinction of life which is sup- 




33S 


PROPENSITIES. 


posed to exist is not absolute but relative; the self-mur¬ 
derer would still cling to existence if it could be possess¬ 
ed separate from the evils which attend it ; it is not life, j 
in itself considered, which he hates, but the variety of un¬ 
pleasant circumstances, either actual or imagined, which 
are connected with it. 

$ 322. Of the twofold action of the principle of self-preservation. 

The principle of self-preservation, or desire of the con¬ 
tinuance of existence, as well as the appetites, has a two¬ 
fold operation, viz., instinctive and voluntary. These 
two aspects or methods of its operation are to be carefully 
distinguished from each other. The instinctive operation 
takes place when life is threatened or endangered on some 
sudden and unexpected emergencies. When a person is. 
in danger of falling, he instinctively puts forth his hand to j 
sustain himself; when a blow is suddenly aimed at him,, 
he instinctively makes an efFort to ward it off; and the 
operation of this instinctive form of the desire is exceed¬ 
ingly rapid as well as effective. This instinctive action 
is highly important in all cases where an effort for self- 
preservation, based upon inquiry and reasoning, would 
come too late.—When the exercise of the desire under 
consideration exists in connexion with inquiry and reason¬ 
ing, and, of course, is ultimately based upon decisions 
of the will, it is said to be voluntary. It is under the sug¬ 
gestions of this form of the principle in question that we 
are led to make all those prospective calculations and ef¬ 
forts which have particular reference to the continuance 
and protection of life. In either point of view, whether 
considered as instinctive or voluntary, it is a principle ev¬ 
idently adapted with great wisdom to man’s situation and 
wants. It is practically a powerful motive to action; and 
in its voluntary exercise is always morally good, so far as 
it exists in entire conformity with the requisitions of an 
unperverted conscience. 

$ 323. Of curiosity, or the desire of knowledge. 

Another of the leading Propensive principles is curi¬ 
osity, or the desire of knowledge; in respect to which it 
scarcely admits of a doubt, that it is to be regarded as 



PROPENSITIES. 


339 


one of the implanted and original characteristics of our 
mental constitution. Although it must be acknowledged 
that this principle exists in very various degrees, from the 
weakest form of life and activity to almost irrepressible 
strength, yet a person utterly without curiosity would be 
deemed almost as strange and anomalous as a person 
without sensation. If curiosity be not natural to man, 
then it follows that the human mind is naturally indiffer¬ 
ent to the objects that are presented to it, and to the dis¬ 
covery of truth: and that its progress in knowledge is 
naturally unattended with satisfaction; a state of things 
which could not be expected, and is not warranted by 
i facts. On the contrary, we see the operation of this 
principle everywhere. When anything unexpected and 
strange takes place, the attention of all persons is imme¬ 
diately directed towards it; it is not a matter ^f indiffer¬ 
ence, but all are anxious to ascertain the cause. 

There is at least one class of writers whose prospects 
of being read depend in a great measure on the work¬ 
ings of this principle; we refer to novelists and writers 
of romance. However commonplace may be their con¬ 
ceptions, and however uninteresting their style, if they 
lay the plan of their novel or romance with so much skill 
as strongly to excite the curiosity, they can command 
readers. And this, undoubtedly, is the whole secret of 
success in a multitude of cases. 

§ 324. Further illustrations of the principle of curiosity. 

In further proof of the existence of this propensity as 
a natural or implanted one, it may be proper to refer to 
the whole class of the Deaf and Dumb, and to those un¬ 
fortunate individuals who are blind as well as deaf and 
dumb. These persons almost uniformly give the most 
striking indications of a desire to learn; it seems to glow 
in their countenance, to inspire their gestures, and to urge 
them on with a sort of violence in their inquiries. Cer¬ 
tainly, if the principle of curiosity were not implanted, 
and did not exist in great strength, they would be entire¬ 
ly overcome by the multitude of discouragements with 
which they are encompassed. 

Take, as an illustration, the case of James Mitchell, of 







340 


PROPENSITIES. 


whom Mr. Stewart has given a minute and interesting ac¬ 
count. Although this unfortunate boy was afflicted with 
the threefold deprivation of being deaf, sightless, and 
without the use of speech, he exhibited a considerable 
degree of mental activity. The principle of Curiosity, in 
particular, existed in great strength. He showed a strong 
desire to examine, and to obtain a knowledge of all ob¬ 
jects that came within his reach. We find him exploring 
the ground inch by inch; we see him creeping on his 
hands and knees on bridges and the tops of houses; ex¬ 
amining not only men, but dogs, horses, carriages, fur¬ 
niture, and musical instruments ; standing by the side of 
shoemakers, tailors, and bricklayers, and intently curious 
to know the mode and the result of their labours. 

But it is unnecessary to dwell upon these general con¬ 
siderations, or to refer to extraordinary instances, when 
we constantly witness in all infants and children the most 
ample proofs that the principle of curiosity is deeply im¬ 
planted in the human mind. It seems to be their life; 
it keeps them constantly in motion; from morn till night 
it furnishes new excitements to activity and new sources 
of enjoyment. The poets, many of whom are entitled to 
the credit of an exact observance of human nature, have 
made this trait in infants and children the foundations of 
many striking passages, as in the following: 

“ In the pleased infant see its power expand, 

When first the coral fills his little hand; 

Throned in his mother’s lap, it dries each tear, 

As her sweet legend falls upon his ear; 

Next it assails him in his top’s strange hum, 

Breathes in his whistle, echoes in his drum ; 

Each gilded toy that doting love bestows, 

He longs to break, and every spring expose.” 

$ 325. Of the twofold operation and the morality of the principle of 
curiosity. 

The innate principle or propensity of curiosity, like that 
of self-preservation, has its twofold action, instinctive 
and voluntary.— An action which is purely instinctive is 
always directed towards its object as an ultimate end; it 
looks at the object itself, without regard to the good or 
evil which may be involved in it; it chooses and pursues 
it for its own sake. It is in this way that the principle 





PROPENSITIES. 


341 


of curiosity operates in the first instance. This is its in¬ 
stinctive operation. And, so far as it thus operates, it is 
neither selfish nor benevolent; neither morally good nor 
evil; but simply innocent and useful. 

It possesses also a voluntary action, founded upon a 
| view of consequences, and implying the exercise of reflec- 
\ tion. We may direct it to proper objects; we may stim¬ 
ulate its exercise by considerations of interest or of duty; 
we may restrain it when it becomes irregular and inor¬ 
dinate. And its action, so far as it exists under such cir¬ 
cumstances, may, with entire propriety, be denominated 
voluntary. And, so far as it is of this character, morality 
is predicable of it; it may be either virtuous or vicious. 
If it be stimulated to action for good ends, and with a 
suitable regard to all other moral claims, its exercise is 
virtuous. If it have bad ends in view, or be put forth 
with such intensity as to violate other moral obligations, 
its exercise is vicious. It is in accordance with these 
views that Mr. Stewart remarks upon and disapproves 
the conduct of a certain ancient astronomer. It appears 
that, on a certain occasion, the astronomer was accused of 
indifference in respect to public transactions. He replied 
to the charge by the remark that his country was in the 
heavens; distinctly implying that he had deliberately 
merged the duties of the citizen in those of the astrono¬ 
mer, and that love to his country was essentially annulled 
by the higher love which he cherished for his chosen 
science. We obviously have here an instance of the in¬ 
ordinate exercise of the principle under consideration. It 
was not duly subordinated. It became so intense as to 
conflict, in the view of an enlightened conscience, with 
the proper exercise of other feelings, and with the dis¬ 
charge of other duties. 

§ 326. Imitativeness, or the propensity to imitation. 

Another of the original propensities of the human mind 
is the principle of Imitation, or the desire of doing as we 
see others do. We find the evidence of the existence of 
such a principle everywhere around us.—If this propen¬ 
sity be not natural, it will be difficult to account for what 
every one must have noticed in infancy and childhood. 
Ff2 



342 


PROPENSITIES. 


And we take this occasion to remark, that on this whole 
subject we shall refer particularly to the early periods of 
life. That is a time when human nature will be likely to 
show itself in its true features. And in respect to the 
principle now before us, it. is certain that children are 
early found to observe with care what others do, and' to 
attempt doing the like. They are greatly aided by this 
propensity in learning to utter articulate sounds. It is 
not without long-continued efforts, in which they are evi¬ 
dently sustained by the mere pleasure of imitation, that 
they acquire the use of oral language. 

At a little later period of life, after having learned to 
articulate, and having become old enough to take part in 
juvenile sports, we find the same propensity at work. 
With the animation and formidable airs of jockeys, they 
bestride a stick for a horse, and try equestrian experi¬ 
ments; they conduct their small and frail carriages 
through courts and streets, and journey with their rude 
sledges from one hill-top to another. Ever busily enga¬ 
ged, they frame houses, build fortifications, erect water¬ 
works, and lay out gardens in miniature. They shoulder 
a cane for a musket; practise a measured step and fierce 
look; and become soldiers, as well as gardeners and 
architects, before they are men.—But the operation of 
this propensity is not limited to children; men also do as 
their fathers have done before them ; it often requires no 
small degree of moral courage to deviate from the line of 
precedents. Whether right or wrong, we generally feel 
a degree of safety, much greater than we should other¬ 
wise feel, so long as we tread in the path of others. 

$ 327. Practical results of the principle of imitation. 

It may, perhaps, be supposed by some, whatever evi¬ 
dence may exist in favour of regarding the principle un¬ 
der consideration as an original one, that it has but a 
slight connexion with the advancement and the happiness 
of mankind. But it is a remark not unfrequently to be 
made in respect to the principles of the mind, that often 
results of great magnitude are found to connect them¬ 
selves with elements in human nature that appeared in 
themselves exceedingly insignificant. Such, it is possible, 



PROPENSITIES. 


343 


may be the case here. We often speak of imitativeness 
as a principle which governs children; but are less will¬ 
ing to acknowledge, which is hardly less the fact, that it 
is a principle which governs men. We cannot doubt, 
from the reflection we have been able to bestow upon it, 
that the principle before us, whatever aspect it may pre¬ 
sent at first sight, was designed to be, and is in fact, one 
of the important supports of society; a source of knowl¬ 
edge, happiness, and power. If this principle were ob¬ 
literated, the bond of union which now holds so closely 
together the two great divisions of society, the old and 
the young, would be greatly weakened; an event, in all 
points of view, much to be deplored. Not only in child¬ 
hood, but in mature age, as we have already had occa¬ 
sion to intimate, we walk in the steps of our fathers, fol¬ 
lowing in arts and in manners the same practices, and 
sustaining the same institutions; and it is desirable, as a 
general thing, that we should do so. And we do it, not 
merely because we suppose them to be clothed with the 
attribute of superior wisdom, but also because we are 
prompted, often unconsciously to ourselves, by the influ¬ 
ence of this powerful principle. And it is in this way, 
partly at least, that generation is connected with genera¬ 
tion ; that the torch of experience, lighted in the prece- 

I ding age, is made to shed its beams over that which fol¬ 
lows ; and that society, kept in the vicinity of the beaten 
track, is not subject to sudden and disastrous convulsions. 

We would merely add, if this principle has such vast 
influence, as we have no doubt that it has, it is incum¬ 
bent on every one carefully to consider the nature and 
tendency of the example which he sets. He who sets a 
bad example, either in domestic or in public life, is not 
only blasted and withered in himself, but almost necessa¬ 
rily leads on in his train a multitude of others to the same 
results of degradation and ruin. On the contrary, he who 
does good in his day and generation, infuses, whether he 
designs it or not, the effulgence of his example into a 
multitude of hearts which nature has opened for its re¬ 
ception ; and thus, with better and higher results, lights 
them upward to happiness and glory. 






344 


PROPENSITIES. 


$ 328. Of the natural desire of esteem. 

Another important propensity, not resolvable into any¬ 
thing else, but original, and standing on its own basis, is 
the desire of esteem .—In proof of the natural and original 
existence of this principle in the human mind, we are at ; 
liberty to appeal, as in the case of all the other propensi¬ 
ties, to what we notice in the beginnings of life, and the 
first developements of the mental nature. Before children 
are capable of knowing the advantages which result from 
the good opinion of others, they are evidently mortified 
at expressions of neglect or contempt, and as evidently 
pleased with expressions of regard and approbation. As 
it is impossible satisfactorily to account for this state of 
things on the ground of its being the result of reasoning, 
experience, or interest, the only explanation left is, that 
this desire is a part of the connatural and essential furni¬ 
ture of the mind. 

(II.) We may remark further, that the desire of esteem 
is found to exist very extensively and strongly in the more 
advanced periods of life. If we look at the history of 
nations and of individuals, how many men do we find 
who have been willing to sacrifice their life rather than 
forfeit the favourable opinion of others! When they have 
lost all besides, their health, their fortune, and friends, 
they cling with fondness to their good name; they point 
triumphantly to their unsullied reputation as a consolation 
in their present adversities, and the pledge of better things 
in time to come. This is especially true of those periods 
in the history of nations, when the original sentiments and 
traits of the people have not been corrupted by the intro¬ 
duction of the arts of luxury and refinement. 

(III.) There is this consideration also, which has a 
bearing upon this topic.—We are sometimes in such a sit¬ 
uation, that the favourable or unfavourable opinion of 
others can have no possible bearing, so far as we can 
judge, on our own personal interests. And further than 
this, the unfavourable sentiment which we suppose to ex¬ 
ist is not responded to in a single instance out of the 
particular circle of those who indulge it. It exists there, 
and there alone; without the possibility of affecting in¬ 
juriously either our property or general reputation. And 





PROPENSITIES. 


345 


yet it is difficult for us not to be affected unpleasantly; 
we feel as if the intentions of nature had been violated; 
as if some real wrong had been done us; as if we had 
been deprived of that which is obviously a right.—If this 
view of the subject is correctly stated, as we have reason 
to think it is, it goes strongly against the doctrine that 
the desire of esteem is based upon personal and interest- 
, ed considerations, and not upon the intrinsic nature of the 
mind. 

(IV.) It is an additional proof in favour of the natu¬ 
ral origin of this propensity, that it operates strongly in 
reference to the future. We not only wish to secure the 
f good opinion of others at the present time, and in refer¬ 
ence to present objects, but are desirous that it should be 
permanent, whether we shall be in a situation directly to 
experience any good effects from it or not. Even after 
we are dead, although we shall be utterly separated, both 
from the applauses and the reprobations of men, still we 
wish to be held in respectful and honourable remem¬ 
brance. Fully convinced as we are that no human voice 
shall ever penetrate and disturb the silence of our tombs, 
the thought would be exceedingly distressing to us if we 
anticipated that our memories would be calumniated. 
We may attempt to reason on the folly of such feelings, 
but we find it impossible to annul the principles planted 
within us, and to stifle the voice of nature speaking in 
the breast. 

$ 329. Of the desire of esteem as a rule of conduct. 

The operation of this principle, when kept within its 
due and appropriate limits, is favourable to human hap¬ 
piness. It begins to operate at a very early period of life, 
long before the moral principles have been fully brought 
out and established; and it essentially promotes a decency 
and propriety of deportment, and stimulates to exertion. 
Whenever a young man is seen exhibiting an utter disre¬ 
gard of the esteem and approbation of others, the most 
unfavourable anticipation may be formed of him; he 
has annihilated one of the greatest restraints on an evil 
course which a kind Providence has implanted within us, 
and exposes himself to the hazard of unspeakable vice 




346 


PROPENSITIES. 


and misery. It is narrated of Sylla, the Roman Dicta¬ 
tor, that, on a certain occasion, happening* to see Julius 
Caesar walking immodestly in the streets, he remarked 
to those around him that he foresaw in that young man 
many Mariuses; distinctly intimating, that a person so 
destitute of regard for the feelings and opinions of others, 
would be likely to take a course dictated by his sensuali¬ 
ty or ambition, irrespective in a great degree of the ad¬ 
monitions of conscience and of considerations of the pub¬ 
lic good. A prediction founded in a knowledge of the 
principles of human nature, and abundantly verified by 
the result. 

But while we distinctly recognise in the desire of 
esteem an innocent and highly useful principle, we are 
carefully to guard, on the other hand, against making the 
opinion of others the sole and ultimate rule of our con¬ 
duct. Temporary impulses and peculiar local circum¬ 
stances may operate to produce a state of public senti¬ 
ment, to which a good man cannot conscientiously con¬ 
form. In all cases where moral principles are involved, 
there is another part of our nature to be consulted. In 
the dictates of an enlightened Conscience, we find a code 
to which not only the outward actions, but the appetites, 
propensities, and affections, are amenable, and which in¬ 
fallibly prescribes the limits of their just exercise. To 
obey the suggestions of the desire of esteem, in opposi¬ 
tion to the requisitions of conscience, would be to sub¬ 
vert the order of the mental constitution, and to transfer 
the responsibility of the supreme command to a mere 
sentinel of the outposts. 

§ 330. Of the desire of possession. 

We are so constituted, that we naturally and necessa¬ 
rily have not only a knowledge of objects, but of a mul¬ 
titude of relations which they sustain. And, among other 
things, we very early form a notion of the relation of 
possession. There are but few suggestions of the intel¬ 
lect with which the mind forms so early an acquaintance 
as with this. Whenever we see children, as we constant¬ 
ly do, contending with each other for the occupancy of 
a chair or the control of a rattle, we may be assured that 





PROPENSITIES. 


347 


they have distinctly formed the idea of possession. They 
know perfectly well what it is, although they cannot de¬ 
fine it, and may possibly not be able to give a name to 
it. Although there can, in reality, be no actual posses¬ 
sion without involving the existence of a relation, since 
the fact or actuality of possession implies, on the one 
hand, an object which is possessed, and on the other a 
possessor; nevertheless, as the notion or idea of posses¬ 
sion exists suggestively and abstractly in the mind, it is 
to be regarded as a single and definite object, distinctly 
perceptible in the mind’s eye, and sustaining the same re¬ 
lation to the sensibilities as any other object or relation, 
either mental or material, which is susceptible of being 
intellectually represented. Of possession, as thus ex¬ 
plained, existing as it were distinctly projected and im- 
bodied in the light of the mental vision, all men appear 
to have a natural or implanted desire. The fact of its 
existence, either actual or possible, is revealed in the in¬ 
tellect ; and the heart, with an instinctive impulse, cor- 
j responds to the perception of the intellect by yielding its 
complacency and love. 

$ 331. Of the moral character of the possessory principle. 

Although the desire of possession (the possessory prin- 
ciple, or propension, as it might be conveniently termed) 
has undoubtedly, like the other propensities, its instinctive 
i action, yet its morality, that is to say, its moral character, 
depends wholly upon the features of its voluntary action. 
We are not disposed to speak, as some on a slight ex¬ 
amination might be inclined to do, of the possessory prin¬ 
ciple as being, in a moral sense, an unmixed evil. So tar 
as its action may be regulated, either in the form of re¬ 
straint or of encouragement, by reason, reflection, and 
the control, either direct or indirect, of the will, (all of 
which is implied when we speak of its voluntary action,) 
just so far it is capable of being either right or wrong, 
reprehensible or meritorious. When acting independent¬ 
ly of all comparison and reflection, it assumes the form 
of an instinct, is often in that form beneficial, and always 
innocent; when it usurps the authority due to other and 
higher principles, prompting us to look with an evil eye 




348 


PROPENSITIES. 


on the rightful possessions of another, and to grasp with 
an earnest and unholy seizure what does not belong to 
us, it becomes vicious; when, on the other hand, its ac¬ 
tion is the reverse of all this, prompted by upright mo¬ 
tives, and adhering strictly to the line of rectitude, it is 
to be regarded as virtuous. 

We apprehend it is impossible even to conceive of a 
being so far elevated in the scale of perception and feel¬ 
ing as to involve moral accountability, which shall be 
constituted on the principle of an entire exclusion of the 
possessory desire. If it desires its own existence and 
happiness, which we suppose to be a trait essential to 
every rational and accountable creature, it seems to fol¬ 
low, as a matter of course, that it will desire those attri¬ 
butes and gifts which are conducive to the preservation 
and perfection of such existence and happiness. What 
sin can there possibly be in desiring to expand the range 
of that existence, which in itself is such an invaluable 
good, provided it be done with a suitable regard to the 
relations and the claims of all other beings! So far 
from being a sin, it is, and must be, a duty. If it be not 
so, what shall be said of those passages of the Apostle 
Paul, not to mention other parts of Scripture of a similar 
import, where he directs the Corinthians not only to 
“covet to prophesy,” but in general terms, “to covet 
earnestly the best gifts;” 1 Cor. xii., 31; xiv., 39. 

$ 332. Of perversions of the possessory desire. 

Although the propensity in question is susceptible, by 
possibility at least, of a virtuous exercise, there is too 
much reason to believe that its ordinary action is a per¬ 
verted and vicious one. It is a great law of the mind, 
that the repetition of the exercise of the active principles 
increases their strength; and as the occasions of the ex¬ 
ercise of the possessory principle are very numerous, it is 
the almost unavoidable result that it becomes inordinate¬ 
ly strong. When this is the case, the otherwise innocent 
desire of possession assumes the form of the sin of Cov¬ 
etousness ; a term which is universally understood to ex¬ 
press an eagerness and intensity of acquisition that presses 
upon the domain of some other active principles, and is 



PROPENSITIES. 


349 


at variance with some of the claims of duty. This is un¬ 
doubtedly one of the great sins which attach to human 
nature; too prevalent, it is to be feared, in the heart of 
every individual; and which receives in all parts of the 
Scriptures a decided and solemn rebuke. 

When the possessory principle becomes, by further rep¬ 
etition, increased in the intensity of its action, it assumes 
the still more aggravated and guilty form of Avarice. In 
this form it not only loses that character of innocence 
which it originally possessed, but becomes exceedingly 
loathsome and abhorrent in the unperverted eye of moral 
purity. 

$ 333. Of the desire of power. 

Another of the original propensities is the desire of 
Power.—In regard to power, it is hardly necessary to say, 
that it is not an object directly addressed to, or cogniza¬ 
ble by, the senses ; but it is an attribute of mind, and is 
made known to us by an act of the Internal intellect; 
that is to say, of the intellect operating independently of 
a direct connexion with the senses. We do not see pow¬ 
er as we see and extended object; nor do we touch it, 
nor is it an object of the taste or smell; but it is revealed 
to the mind by an act of Original Suggestion, on the oc¬ 
casions appropriate to that species of mental action. But, 
although it is not cognizable by the senses, it is as much 
a reality, as much an object of emotion and desire, as if 
that were the case. It stands out as distinctly perceptible 
to the mind’s eye, as an extended and coloured body does 
to the bodily eye. This being the case, we may, with en¬ 
tire propriety of language, speak of the desire of power; 
for wherever there is an object, that object may, in pos¬ 
sibility at least, be desired ; but where there is no object 
before the mind, it is not possible for desire to exist. 

These remarks are preparatory to what we have now 
to say, viz., that the desire of power is natural to the hu¬ 
man mind; in other words, that the desire of power is 
an original principle of the mind.—In support of this 
view, which may perhaps fail at first sight to commend 
itself to the reception of the reader, the first remark we 
have to make is, that power in its own nature is a thing 




350 


PROPENSITIES. 


desirable. It cannot be doubted that power is in fact, 
and is to be regarded as, an essential attribute of all 
mental being.—Accordingly, if an intellectual and sen¬ 
tient existence is desirable, then power is desirable also, as 
being necessarily involved in such existence. The desire 
of existence, by common acknowledgment, is natural to 
us; the desire of happiness is natural also; and since 
there can be neither the one nor the other without power, 
it seems reasonable to think that the desire of power is 
essential to, and is implanted in, our nature. 

There are various circumstances, obvious to every one’s 
notice, wdiich go to confirm this view of the subject. 
“ The infant,” says Mr. Stewart, “ while still on the 
breast, delights in exerting its little strength on every ob¬ 
ject it meets with, and is mortified when any accident 
convinces it of its own imbecility. The pastimes of the 
boy are, almost without exception, such as suggest to him 
the idea of power. When he throws a stone or shoots 
an arrow, he is pleased with being able to produce an ef¬ 
fect at a distance from himself ; and wdiile he measures 
with his eye the amplitude or range of his missile weapon, 
contemplates with satisfaction the extent to which his 
power has reached. It is on a similar principle that he 
loves to bring his strength into comparison with that of 
his fellows, and to enjoy the consciousness of superior 
prowess.” 

§ 334. Of the moral character of the desire of power. 

If it be true that the desire of power is connatural to 
the human mind, it will probably be found, like other 
analogous principles, to possess a twofold action, instinct¬ 
ive and voluntary. So far as its action is instinctive, 
we may suppose it to be innocent at least, and probably 
useful. So far as it is voluntary, the virtue or vice which 
attaches to it will depend upon its regulation. If it be 
kept in subordination to the dictates of an enlightened 
conscience, and to the feelings and duties we owe to the 
Supreme Being, its exercise is virtuous. If, on the con¬ 
trary, it acquires inordinate strength, as it is very likely to 
do, and is excessive in its operation, pushing us forward 
to the pursuit of forbidden objects and the invasion of 
other’s rights, it then becomes vicious. 


PROPENSITIES. 


351 


When the desire of power becomes excessive, and ex¬ 
ists and operates as a leading and predominant principle, 
we commonly denominate it Ambition. He who is un¬ 
der the influence of ambition, desires power ; not because 
it assimilates him to his Maker, not because it affords him 
the increased means of usefulness, nor for any other rea¬ 
son which commends itself to a strictly virtuous mind; 
but simply because it administers to the gratification of 
an unrestrained and insatiable selfishness. 

$ 335. Propensity of self-love, or the desire of happiness. 

We proceed to explore this part of our sensitive nature 
still further, by adding, that the desire of enjoyment or 
happiness appears to be an original or connatural element 
of the mental constitution. No one will presume to as¬ 
sert that the desire of suffering is natural; that we ordi¬ 
narily rejoice in the prospect of coming woes, and endure 
them with gladness of heart. Nor are there satisfactory 
grounds for the opinion that enjoyment and suffering are 
indifferent to the human mind, and that there is no choice 
to be had between them. Such a supposition would be 
contrary to the common experience and the most obvi¬ 
ous facts. On the contrary, our own consciousness and 
what we witness in others effectually teach us, that the 
desire of happiness is as natural as that of knowledge or 
esteem, and even hardly less so, than it is to desire food 
and drink when we experience the uneasy sensations of 
hunger and thirst. 

Under the instigation and guidance of this strong pro¬ 
pensity, men not only flee from present evil and cling to 
present happiness, but, foreseeing the events of the fu¬ 
ture, they prepare raiment and houses, fill their grana¬ 
ries, in anticipation of a day of want, and take other 
measures for the prolonging of life, health, and comfort. 
It is kindly provided that they are not left, in taking pre¬ 
cautions subservient to their preservation and well-being, 
to the suggestions and the law of reason alone, but are 
guided and kept in action by this decisive and perma¬ 
nent principle. And it is proper to add, that this desire 
operates not only in reference to outward and bodily com¬ 
forts, but also in relation to inward consolations, the in- 




352 


PROPENSITIES. 


spirations and solaces of religion in the present life, and 
the anticipated possession of that more glorious happiness 
which religious faith attaches to a future state of exist¬ 
ence. 

But it should ever be remembered, that the desire of ! 
our own happiness, like the other desires which have been 
mentioned, ought to be subjected to a suitable regulation. 
An enlightened conscience will explain under what con¬ 
ditions our personal welfare may be pursued, and in what 
cases, whether it relate to the present or the future, it 
should be subordinated to considerations of public bene- 
fit and of universal benevolence. 

$ 336. Of selfishness as distinguished from self-love. 

We cannot but suppose, for the reasons that have just 
been suggested, that the desire of happiness or propensi¬ 
ty of personal good is an attribute of man’s nature. 
This opinion is not only accordant with the suggestions 
of the light of nature, but is sanctioned by other and 
higher authority. The pursuit of our own happiness is 
obviously recognised in the Scriptures, and is urged upon 
us as a duty. While we are required to love our neigh¬ 
bour, it is nowhere said that we must perform this duty 
to the exclusion of a suitable regard for our own felicity. 
—The desire of happiness thus implanted in our own 
constitution, we denominate by a simple and expressive 
term, self-love. But it cannot be denied that the im¬ 
port of the term is frequently misunderstood, and that the 
term itself is liable to erroneous applications. 

This is owing to the fact that the principle is not al¬ 
ways, and perhaps we should say, is not generally regu¬ 
lated and restrained as it ought to be; but frequently de¬ 
generates into a perversion which ought to be carefully 
distinguished from its innocent exercise. It is not self- 
love, but the perversion of self-love, which is properly 
called selfishness ; and while self-love is always inno¬ 
cent, and, under proper regulations, is morally commenda¬ 
ble, as being the attribute of a rational nature, and as be- 
ing approved by God himself, selfishness, on the con¬ 
trary, is always sinful, as existing in violation of what is 
due to others, and at variance with the will of God.—It 




PROPENSITIES. 


353 


is due to the cause of morals and religion, as well as ot 
sound philosophy, to make this important distinction. 
Self-love is the principle which a holy God has given; 
selfishness is the loathsome superstructure which man, 
in the moments of his rebellion and sin, has erected 
upon it. 

§ 337. Reference to the opinions of philosophical writers. 

It would be easy to introduce passages in support of 
the greater part of the views of this chapter, if it were 
deemed necessary, from writers whose opinions are receiv¬ 
ed with deference, and are justly entitled to be so. It 
appears from the recent work of Dr. Chalmers on the 
Moral and Intellectual Constitution of Man, that he re¬ 
gards the desire of possession (the possessory principle, as 
it may conveniently be designated) as connatural to the 
human mind. (Vol. i., ch. vi., § 8—13.) Mr. Stewart 
takes the same view in regard to the principle of self-love, 
or the desire of happiness. (Active and Moral Powers, 
bk. ii., chap, i.) On this important subject, which in 
some of its aspects is closely connected with the requisi¬ 
tions and appeals of revealed religion, we find the follow¬ 
ing explicit statement in Dr. Wardlaw’s recently publish¬ 
ed treatise, entitled Christian Ethics. 

66 Self-love is an essential principle in the constitution 
of every intelligent creature; meaning by self-love the 
desire of its own preservation and well-being. By no ef¬ 
fort of imagination can we fancy to ourselves such a crea¬ 
ture constituted without this. It is an original law in the 
nature of every sentient existence. In man, it is true, in 
regard especially to the sources from which it has sought 
its gratification, it is a principle which, since his fall, has 
been miserably perverted and debased, degenerating, in 
ten thousand instances, into utter selfishness, and in all 
partaking of this unworthy taint. Between selfishness, 
however, and legitimate self-love, there is an obvious and 
wide discrepancy. The latter is not at all distinctive of 
our nature as degenerate, but was interwoven in its very 
texture as it came from the Creator’s hand. The former 
is properly the corruption of the latter. It leads the crea¬ 
ture, who is under its dominant influence, to prefer self to 
Gg2 


354 


PROPENSITIES. 


fellow-creatures and to God, so as to seek its own real or 
supposed advantage at the expense of the interests and 
the honour of both. So far, on the contrary, is self-love 
from being unwarrantable, that, in that part of God’s law 1 
which prescribes our feeling and conduct towards our fel¬ 
low-creatures, it is assumed as the standard measure of 
the commanded duty, 4 Thou shalt love thy neighbour as 
thyself.’ Take away self-love, or suppose it possible that 
the human heart should be divested of it, and you anni¬ 
hilate the command by rendering it unintelligible. 

“ There is not, assuredly, any part of the divine word, 
by which we are required, in any circumstances, to divest 
ourselves of this essential principle in our constitution. 
That word, on the contrary, is full of appeals to it, under 
every diversity of form. Such are all its threatenings, 
all its promises, all its invitations.” 

§ 338. The principle of sociality original in the human mind. 

Sociality, or the desire of society, is another of the im¬ 
planted propensities. Men naturally (not moved to it 
primarily by the influences of education or considerations 
of interest, but of themselves and naturally') have a de¬ 
sire of the company or society of their fellow-men; a 
tendency of the mind, expressed by the single term so¬ 
ciality or sociability. —We are aware that the desire of 
society, as well as some of the other original propensions, 
has sometimes been regarded as a mere modification of 
Self-love. It is the fact, however, that, in its first opera¬ 
tion, the desire of society acts instinctively, being directed 
to its object as an ultimate end, wholly irrespective of 
any pleasure which may subsequently be found attached 
to its attainment. It is one of the characteristics of De¬ 
sire, as we have already seen, that the attainment of its 
object is attended with more or less pleasure. And this 
is as true of the successful issue of the principle of So¬ 
ciality as of any other principle, involving as a part of 
its nature the desiring element. Accordingly, after the 
experience of pleasure attendant upon its successful exer¬ 
cise, even in a single instance, it is possible that its sub¬ 
sequent action may be prompted rather by a regard to the 
concomitant enjoyment than to the object which origi- 





PROPENSITIES. 


355 


nally called it forth. Such an exercise of the principle 
under consideration may, with some appearance of pro¬ 
priety, be termed a selfish one ; but this is rather a sec¬ 
ondary than an original exercise ; and does not so much 
indicate what the principle is by nature, as what it may 
become by subordinate or by perverting influences. In it¬ 
self considered, it is innocent and highly useful; it may, 
indeed, after its first exercise, be indulged from a regard 
to personal or self-interested considerations; that is to 
say, from a regard to our own happiness or pleasure; but 
even the exercise of the principle from such considerations 
is not to be regarded, as some may suppose, as morally 
wrong, provided it is so regulated as not to conflict with 
the proper operation of other principles and with the 
claims of duty 

§ 339. Evidence of the existence of this principle of sociality. 

(I.) The existence of the propensity under considera¬ 
tion is shown, in the first place, by what we notice in the 
early periods of life. No one is ignorant that infants and 
very young children exhibit a strong attachment to their 
parents and others who tend upon them, and a desire for 
their company and uneasiness at their absence. When 
left alone, even for a very short time, they discover a 
great degree of unhappiness, which may sometimes be 
ascribed to fear, but more often to the mere sense of lone¬ 
liness, and the desire for society. 

When other infants and children are brought into their 
company whom they have never seen before, this propen¬ 
sity is at once shown in their smiles, their animated ges¬ 
tures, and sparkling eyes. And when they are old 
enough to go out and play in the streets, we find them 
almost always in groups. Their sports, their wanderings 
in fields and forests, their excursions in fishing and hunt¬ 
ing, are all made in companies; and the privilege of 
amusing themselves in these ways, on the condition of 
not being allowed the attendance of others, would be 
deemed scarcely better than a punishment. 

(II.) In the second place, this propensity, which shows 
itself with so much strength in children, continues to ex¬ 
ist, and to give interesting and decisive proofs of its ex- 


356 


PROPENSITIES. 


istence, in manhood and age. It is true, that those who 
are further advanced in years, from the circumstance of 
their finding greater resources in themselves, are in gen¬ 
eral more capable of supporting retirement and solitude 
than children. But it is very evident, in the maturity as I 
well as in the earlier periods of life, that man’s proper 
element (that in which alone he can secure the devel- 
opement of his powers and be happy) is society, in some 
shape and in some degree. Hence the frequency of fam¬ 
ily meetings, of social and convivial parties, of commem¬ 
orative celebrations, of religious, literary, and political 1 
assemblies, which constantly occur in all communities I 
throughout the world, and which seem to be almost as i 
necessary as the air they breathe or their daily food. 

$ 340. Other illustrations of the existence of this principle. 

So strong is this principle, that men, if deprived of hu¬ 
man society, will endeavour to satisfy its demands by 1 
forming a species of intimacy with the lower animals; a I 
circumstance which seems to us decisively to evince not [ 
only the innate existence, but the great strength of the 
social tendency. Baron Trenck, for instance, in order to 
alleviate the wretchedness of his long and dreadful im¬ 
prisonment, made the attempt, and was successful in it, to 
tame a mouse. The mouse, according to his account of 
him, would not only play around him and eat from his 
hand, but discovered extraordinary marks of sagacity as 
well as of attachment. 

Mr. Stewart, in illustrating this very subject, makes the 
following statement.—“ The Count de Lauzun was confi¬ 
ned by Louis XIV. for nine years in the Castle of Pigne- 
rol, in a small room where no light could enter but from 
a chink in the roof. In this solitude he attached himself 
to a spider, and contrived for some time to amuse him¬ 
self in attempting to tame it, with catching flies for its 
support, and with superintending the progress of its web. 
The jailer discovered his amusement and killed the spi¬ 
der ; and the count used afterward to declare, that the 
pang he felt on the occasion could be compared only to 
that of a mother for the loss of a child.” 

More recently we find statements of a similar purport 








PROPENSITIES. 


357 


in the interesting little work of Silvio Pellico, which gives 
an account of his Ten Years’ Imprisonment.—“ Being al¬ 
most deprived of human society,” he remarks, “ I one day 
made acquaintance with some ants upon my window; I 
fed them; they went away, and, ere long, the place was 
thronged with these little insects, as if come by invitation. 
A spider, too, had weaved a noble edifice upon my walls, 
and I often gave him a feast of gnats and flies, which 
were extremely annoying to me, and which he liked much 
better than I did. I got quite accustomed to the sight of 
him ; he would run over my bed, and come and take the 
precious morsels out of my hand.” 

On a certain occasion, after having been visited by 
I some one who took a more than usual interest in his situ- 
j ation, he exclaims, “ How strange, how irresistible is the 
desire of the solitary prisoner to behold some one of his 
■j own species ! It amounts to almost a sort of instinct , as 
if to prevent insanity, and its usual consequence, the ten¬ 
dency to self-destruction. The Christian religion, so 
) abounding in views of humanity, forgets not to enumerate 
| among its works of mercy the visiting of the prisoner. 

! The mere aspect of man, his look of commiseration, his 
willingness, as it were, to share with you, and bear a part 
' of your heavy burden, even when you know he cannot 
; relieve you, has something that sweetens your bitter cup.” 

§ 341. Relation of the social principle to civil society. 

It is on such considerations that we maintain the prin¬ 
ciple which has now been the subject of examination, to 
be connatural to the human mind. If men are frequently 
found in a state of contention, jealous of each other’s ad¬ 
vancement, and seeking each other’s injury, we are not 
to regard this as their natural position, but rather as the 
result, in many cases at least, of misapprehension. If they 
understood, in every case, the relative position of those 
with whom they contend, and especially, if they were free 
from all unfavourable influences from those who happen 
to be placed in positions of authority, the great mass of 
mankind would find the principle of sociality successfully 
asserting its claims against those causes of compulsion 
and strife which, for various reasons, too often exist. 





358 


THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


In concluding this subject, we may properly revert a 
moment to the strange notion of Mr. Hobbes, and those 
who think with him, that man is kept in society only by .1 
the fear of what he significantly calls the Leviathan; that j 
is to say, of Civil Society in the exercise of force. These 1 
writers give us to understand, that it is the chain, the j 
sword, and the fagot, which sustains the uniformity of : 
the social position. We have no doubt that Civil Gov¬ 
ernment, in its proper administration, has a favourable 1 
effect, even in the exercise of force. But, at the same I 
time, it is a great and important fact, that Civil Society 
has a different, and, in all respects, a better foundation 
than this. It is based on the constitution of the mind it- ! 
self; on the unfailing operations of the social principle. 

It is true that the tendencies of this principle are some- I 
times temporarily annulled by counteracting and adverse j 
influences; but the principle itself is never, in a sound 
mind, perfectly extinguished. There is philosophical 
truth, as well as poetical beauty, in the well-known ex¬ 
pressions of Cowper: 

“ Man in society is like a flower 
Blown in his native bed ; ’tis there alone 
His faculties, expanded in full bloom, 

Shine out; there only reach their proper use.” 


CHAPTER V. 

THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 

$ 342. Of the comparative rank of the affections. 

It will be recollected, after some general remarks on 
the Nature of desire, we proposed to prosecute the ex¬ 
amination of what may be called, in distinction from the 
emotive, the desirous portion of the Pathematic sensibili¬ 
ties, under the subordinate heads of the Instincts, the Ap¬ 
petites, the Propensities, and the Affections. Having ex¬ 
amined, so far as seemed to be necessary for our purpose, 
the three first divisions, we are now prepared to proceed 
to the last. 




THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS* 359 

The Affections are distinguished from the other forms 
of the desirous or propensive nature, besides other subor¬ 
dinate marks or characteristics which will naturally pre¬ 
sent themselves to our notice as they come separately 
under examination, in being, in the first place, more 
complex, and also by the circumstance of their sustaining 
f a higher place in the graduation of our esteem and hon¬ 
our.—It may be difficult to explain how it happens, but 
it is unquestionably the fact, that there is a difference in 
the sentiments of esteem with which we contemplate dif¬ 
ferent parts of our nature; some being regarded with 
| higher, and some with less honour. In the graduation of 
our regard, it appears to be the fact, that we generally 
estimate the appetites as, in some degree, higher than the 
instincts, and the propensities as higher than either. To 
the Affections, especially the Benevolent affections, which 

• occupy, in our estimation, a still more elevated position, 
we look with increased feelings of interest. They obvi¬ 
ously stand at the head of the list; and when we shall 
have completed their examination, nothing more will re¬ 
main to be said on the regular or ordinary action of the 

i Natural Sensibilities.—We shall then be at liberty to pro- 

* ceed to another and still more important class of subjects. 

§ 343. Of the complex nature of the affections. 

The Affections, unlike the Appetites and Propensities 
as they exist in their primitive or original developement, 

! are not simple states of mind, but complex. Accordingly, 
the term affection denotes a state of mind, of which it is 
indeed true that some simple emotion is always a part, 
but which differs from any single simple emotion in being 
combined with some form of that state of the mind called 
desire. “As to every sort of passion,” says Kaimes, 
“we find no more in the composition but an emotion, 
pleasant or painful, accompanied with desire.” 

The affections are susceptible of being divided, although 
it may not be, in all respects, easy to carry the arrange¬ 
ment into effect in its detail, into the two classes of Be¬ 
nevolent and Malevolent. The malevolent affections, as 
a general thing, include a painful emotion, accompanied 
with a desire of evil to the unpleasant object. The be- 



360 


THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


nevolent affections, on the contrary, include, for the most 
part, a pleasant emotion, accompanied with the desire of 
good to the pleasing object. But what distinguishes and 
characterizes the two classes, is probably not so much the 
nature of the emotion as the desire of good or evil which 
attends it.—It is on the basis of this division that we pro¬ 
pose to proceed in the examination of this subject. 

It is proper to remark here, that the term passions, in 
conformity with the authorized usage of language, is sus¬ 
ceptible of being employed as entirely synonymous with 
affections. In this sense we shall sometimes have occa¬ 
sion to use it; although it is frequently the case that it is 
employed also as expressive, not merely of the existence 
of the affections, but as implying their existence in a raised 
or eminent degree. 

§ 344. Of resentment or anger. 

The first of the malevolent affections which we pro¬ 
pose to consider (that which may be termed the founda¬ 
tion or basis of all the others) is Resentment or Anger. 
This affection, like all others, is of a complex nature, in¬ 
volving an unpleasant or painful emotion, accompanied 
with the desire of inflicting unpleasantness or pain on the 
object towards which it is directed. In its original or 
natural state, the desire appears to be, to some extent, 
the counterpart of the emotion; that is to say, having 
experienced an unpleasant or painful emotion, in conse¬ 
quence of the actual or supposed ill conduct of others, we 
naturally desire, in the exercise of the Resentment arising 
under such circumstances, a corresponding retribution of 
pain on the offending agent. But in saying that they 
are reciprocally counterparts, we do not feel at liberty to 
assert, although there seem to be grounds for such a sug¬ 
gestion, that they possess to each other a precise and exact 
correspondence. 

There are various modifications of Resentment, so dis¬ 
tinct from each other as easily to admit of a separate no¬ 
tice and to be entitled to a distinct name, such as Peevish¬ 
ness, Jealousy, and Revenge. These will be considered, 
although in as brief a manner as possible, in their proper 
place. It is necessary to remark a little more at length 









THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS* 361 

upon the passion now before us, which may be regarded 
as in some important sense the foundation and the place 
oi origin to all the others. 

$ 345. Illustrations of instinctive resentment. 

The affections, agreeing in this respect with what has 
; ]? ee ; n sai .d °f the Appetites and Propensities, have a two¬ 
fold action, instinctive and voluntary; operating, in the 
one case, suddenly and without thought; in the other, 
operating on reflection and with deliberate purpose of 
mind.—Accordingly, we proceed to remark, in the first 
place, on the instinctive form of resentment. The occa¬ 
sions on which this form of resentment arises or is liable 
to arise, are all cases of harm or suffering, whether such 
harm or suffering be caused intentionally or not. The 
harm which we experience is followed by the resentment 
at once; the rapidity of the retributive movement may be 
I compared to that of a flash of lightning j quick as the 
r operation of thought is universally allowed to be, there is 
( no opportunity for its interposition between the harm 
j which has been experienced and the resentment that fol¬ 
lows. Under such circumstances it is, of course, impos- 
[ sible that the resentment should be regulated by the con- 
[ sideration whether the hurt which we have experienced 
I was intentional or not. It is the harm, in itself consider¬ 
ed, which arouses us, exclusive of any reference to the 
| cimmstances under which it is inflicted. 

We not unfrequently see instances of instinctive resent¬ 
ment corresponding to what has been said. It is under 
! the influence of this form of resentment that the child who 
has been accidentally hurt by a stone or a billet of wood, 
wreaks a momentary anger upon the inanimate object; 
that the Savage breaks and fiercely tramples on the ar¬ 
row which has wounded him; and that men, in the first 
moments of their suffering, almost universally discover a 
sudden and marked displeasure with the cause of it. 

§ 346. Uses and moral character of instinctive resentment. 

The object (or final cause, as it is sometimes termed) 

; for which the principle of instinctive resentment is im¬ 
planted in man, seems to be to furnish him with a degree 
H H 




362 


THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


of protection in the case of sudden and unforeseen attacks. 
The reasoning power is comparatively slow in its opera¬ 
tion ; and if the constitution of our nature were such as 
to require us always to wait for its results before acting, 
we might, in some cases, fail of that protection which an 
instinctive effort would have given. Hence the practical 
importance of this form of the principle under considera¬ 
tion. 

It may be added, that instinctive resentment has no 
moral character. It is the glory of the moral nature, that 
it lays back, if we may be allowed the expressions, of the 
intellective nature; and that it does not, and cannot, 
act independently of the antecedent action, to a greater 
or less extent, of the intellect. In other words, the na¬ 
ture of conscience is such as to require as the basis of its 
action a knowledge of the thing and its relations, upon „ 
which it is about to pronounce its opinion; which knowl¬ 
edge can be acquired only by the perceptive and compa¬ 
ring acts of the intellect. But such is the rapidity of 
instinctive action, that it entirely excludes a suitable 
knowledge of the event which calls it forth; and as it in 
this way excludes the cognizance and authority of con¬ 
science, it cannot be said to have a moral character, either 
good or evil. 

$ 347. Of voluntary in distinction from instinctive resentment. 

The second, and, in a practical and moral point of 
view, the more important form of this affection is what 
may be denominated Voluntary Resentment. By inqui¬ 
ring into the cause of the resentment which we have in¬ 
stinctively experienced, and by suggesting reasons either 
for its increase or diminution, we are enabled to modify 
its action, and to impart to it the character of voluntari¬ 
ness and accountability. 

The proper occasion of deliberate or Voluntary, in dis¬ 
tinction from instinctive Resentment, is injury, as it stands 
distinguished from mere harm or hurt. That is to say, 
Voluntary resentment, when exercised in accordance with 
the intentions of nature, takes into view, not only the harm 
or suffering which has been occasioned, but the motive or 
intention of the agent. The final cause or object of in- 


THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


363 


stinctive resentment is immediate protection; nor does it 
appear to have anything further in view. The final cause 
of voluntary resentment is not only protection, hut justice. 
In other words, while it aims to secure protection, it does 
not propose the attainment of that object, except in con¬ 
formity with what is strictly proper and right. It al¬ 
ways, therefore, in its appropriate and legitimate exercise, 
dispenses its retribution, not simply with a reference to 
the harm, loss, or suffering which has been endured, hut 
chiefly with reference to the feelings which at the time 
existed in the mind of the agent or cause of the suffering. 

A moral character, accordingly, attaches only to the 
voluntary form of resentment. If there is an exact pro¬ 
portion between the resentment and its cause; in other 
words, if resentment precisely corresponds to what justice 
requires, it is right. But if it exceeds this just proportion, 
it is wrong. This statement is made on the supposition 
that we are considering the subject by the mere aid of 
the light of nature, exclusively of the Scriptures. If, un¬ 
der the Christian dispensation, we are required, for high 
and holy reasons peculiar to that dispensation, to subdue 
resentful feelings which otherwise might have been justly 
exercised, that circumstance evidently places the subject 
in a different light. 

§ 348. Tendency of anger to excess, and the natural checks to it. 

Few principles are more operative in man, in point of 
fact, than that of resentment. And although, reasoning 
on the principles of nature merely, without taking into 
view the duty of forgiveness inculcated in the Scriptures, 
we may justify its deliberate and voluntary exercise in 
many cases, it must be admitted, on the whole, that it is 
particularly liable to a perverted and excessive action. It 
is too frequently the fact, that man is found wreaking his 
anger on those who, on a full and candid examination of 
all the circumstances of the case, would be found entitled 
to no such treatment. 

One cause of the frequency of excessive and unjustifi¬ 
able resentment is to be. found in the fact, that, in conse¬ 
quence of the suffering or loss we endure, our thoughts 
are wholly taken up with our own situation, and we find 


364 


THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


it very difficult to estimate properly either the facts or 
the motives of our supposed adversary’s conduct. If we 
could turn away our thoughts from ourselves, so far as 
fully to understand all the circumstances of a proceeding 
which, in itself considered, we have found so injurious to 
us, we should frequently he willing to check the vehe¬ 
mence of our anger, if we did not wholly extinguish it. 

Nature, however, has herself instituted some checks on 
the undue exercise of this passion.— First. The exercise 
of this passion is, in its very nature, painful. It is in this 
respect very different from the exercise of the benevolent 
affections, which is pleasant. So great is the pain at¬ 
tendant upon deliberate and protracted anger, that it is 
not uncommon to hear persons assert that they have them¬ 
selves endured more suffering in their own minds than 
the gratification of their passions has caused to their op¬ 
ponents. Nature seems to have attached this penalty to 
the exercise of this passion, in order to remind men, at 
the most appropriate moment, of the necessity of keeping 
it in due subjection. 

Second. Whenever our resentment passes the proper ’ 
bounds, the feelings of the community, which were be¬ 
fore in our favour, immediately turn against us. We are 
so constituted that we naturally desire the good opinion 
of others; and, consequently, the loss of their good opin¬ 
ion operates upon us as a punishment, and not unfrequent- 
ly a severe one. Under the influence of the experience 
or the anticipation of this incidental retribution, it is not 
unfrequently the case, that men restrict within proper 
bounds those angry feelings, which, under other circum¬ 
stances, they would probably have indulged to excess. 

Third. The tendency of the indulgence of anger is to 
lower a man in his own estimation, and still more so in 
the estimation of others, who will be less ready to admit 
those mitigating circumstances that partially justify his 
feelings to himself. The mere outward signs of the an¬ 
gry passions give a shock to our sensibilities, and are 
hateful to us; while those of an opposite character beam 
upon the soul with the pleasantness of a tranquil mom- 
ing’ s light. The smile of benevolence wins upon our 
affections; but the scowl of anger, whether it be directed 


THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


365 


against ourselves or others, fills us with pain and dread. 
And, moreover, while the indulgence of anger tends, as a 
general thing, to degrade the subject of it in our view, 
we look with increased respect and honour on those who 
successfully resist its approaches, and are calm and for¬ 
bearing amid insult and injury. 

§ 349. Other reasons for checking and subduing the angry passions. 

In addition to those checks to the angry passions which 
nature herself seems to have furnished, it may be proper 
to mention a few considerations, drawn from reason and 
the Scriptures, which, if they have the weight they are 
entitled to, will tend to the same desirable result.—(1.) 
We should always keep in recollection, in the first place, 
that when the mind is much agitated by passion, it is ren¬ 
dered by that circumstance itself incapable, to a consid¬ 
erable degree, of correct judgment. Actions, considered 
as the indications of feeling and character, do not at such 
times appear to us in their true light. They are seen 
through an unfavourable medium, and represented un¬ 
naturally, with distorted and discoloured features. It is 
said to have been a saying of Socrates to his servant on 
a certain occasion, that he would beat him if he were not 
angry; a remark which seems to indicate that, in the 
opinion of the author of it, anger is a state of mind unfa¬ 
vourable to a correct judgment of the merit or demerit of 
the person towards whom it is directed. 

(2.) We should consider, in the second place, even if 
we have no particular reason to distrust our powers of 
judging, that we may, by possibility at least, have mista¬ 
ken the motives of the person whom we imagine to have 
injured us. Perhaps the oversight or crime which we 
allege against him, instead of being premeditated or in¬ 
tentional, was mere inadvertence. It is even possible that 
his intentions were favourable to us, instead of being, as 
we suppose, of a contrary character. And if it were oth¬ 
erwise ; if the wrong done us were an intentional wrong, 
it is still possible that this hostile disposition may have 
originated from serious misconceptions in regard to our 
own character and conduct. And obviously the easiest 
and best way would be to correct these misconceptions, 
Hh2 




366 


THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


and thus to secure safety for the future, and, in all prob¬ 
ability, recompense for the past. 

(3.) There is another consideration which ought to 
prevent the indulgence of this passion and to allay its 
effects. It is, that all have offended against the Supreme i 
Being, and stand in need of pardon from Him. If we 
ourselves were without sin; if we could boast of perfect 
purity of character, there might seem to be some degree 
of reasonableness in our exacting from others the full 
amount of what is due to perfect and inflexible rectitude. 
But the actual state of things is far different from this. 
Every one who knows his own heart must see and feel 
himself to be a transgressor. How unsuitably, therefore, 
to the circumstances of his own situation, does that man 
conduct who talks largely of satisfaction and revenge, 
when he is every moment dependent on the clemency 
and forgiveness of a Being whom he has himself so often 
sinned against. 

In the fourth place, there are many passages of Scrip¬ 
ture which expressly require us to subdue the malevolent 
passions, and to forgive the injuries which have called 
them into action. And this, we may here take occasion 
to remark, is one of the great and striking characteristics 
of the Gospel revelation. The doctrine, that we are to 
love and do good to our enemies, obviously distinguishes 
the Christian Code from every other; and gives to it, as 
compared with mere human systems, an inexpressible ele¬ 
vation. Its language is, “Ye have heard, it hath been 
said, thou shalt love thy neighbour and hate thine enemy. 
But I say unto you, love your enemies; bless them that 
curse you; do good to them that hate you, and pray for 
them which despitefully use you and persecute you.” 

$ 350. Modifications of resentment. Peevishness. 

When, in all ordinary cases, the resentful feeling shows 
itself, we variously denominate it by the terms resentment, 
hostility, anger, hatred, indignation, and the like; but 
there are some modifications of the feeling, distinguished 
either by excess or diminution, or in some other way, 
which may be regarded as possessing a distinctive char¬ 
acter. One of these is peevishness or fretfulness ; a 





THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


367 


species of malevolent passion which, probably with more 
frequency than its decided manifestations, interrupts the 
peace and happiness of life. 

Peevishness differs from ordinary anger in being exci¬ 
ted by very trifling circumstances, and in a strange facil¬ 
ity of inflicting its effects on everybody and everything 
within its reach. The peevish man has met with some 
j trifling disappointment, (it matters but little what it is,) 
i and the serenity of whole days is disturbed; no smiles 
are to be seen; everything, whether animate or inani- 
i mate, rational or irrational, is out of place, and falls under 
the rebuke of this fretful being.—Anger, in its most mark- 
! ed and decided manifestations, may be compared to a 
thunder-shower, that comes dark and heavily, but leaves 
a clear sky afterward. But peevishness is like an ob¬ 
scure, drizzling fog; it is less violent, and lasts longer. 
In general, it is more unreasonable and unjust than vio¬ 
lent anger, and would certainly be more disagreeable, 
were it not often, in consequence of being so dispropor- 
[ tioned to its cause, so exceedingly ludicrous. 

$ 351. Modifications of resentment. Envy. 

One of the most frequent forms of resentment is Envy. 
By this term we are accustomed to express that ill-will 
or hatred which has its rise from the contemplation of the 
superiority of another. Considered as a mere state of the 
mind, Envy is to be regarded as only one of the perver¬ 
sions of resentment; but, considered in respect to the oc¬ 
casions of its origin, it must be added that it is one of the 
most degrading and hateful perversions. There is no 
passion which is more tormenting in the experience, as 
might be expected from its hatefulness; and none which 
is more decisively condemned by the sentiments of justice. 

If we are asked why it is that, on the mere contem¬ 
plation of the more favourable situation, and the greater 
advancement of another, we experience such an odious 
perversion of a principle apparently good in itself, we 
shall probably find a reason in the irregular and inordi¬ 
nate action of the principle of Self-love. Men frequently 
become so intensely selfish, that they cannot admit others 
to an equal participation of what they enjoy, much less 



368 


THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


see them advanced to a higher situation, without a greater 
or less degree of repining and discontent. And it is this 
state of mind which is appropriately denominated Envy. 

$ 352. Modifications of resentment. Jealousy. 

There are still other varieties of that Resentment or 
Hostility, which may be regarded, in some important 
sense, as the basis of the whole series of the Malevolent 
passions. Among these is Jealousy, which includes a 
painful emotion caused by some object of love , and at- j 
tended with a desire of evil towards that object.—The 
circumstance which characterizes this passion, and consti¬ 
tutes its peculiar trait, is, that all its bitterness and hostil¬ 
ity are inflicted on some one whom the jealous person 
loves. The feeling of suspicious rivalship which often I 
exists between candidates for fame and power, is some- . 
times called jealousy, on account of its analogy to this i 
passion.—There are various degrees of jealousy, from the 1 
forms of mere mistrust and watchful suspicion to its high¬ 
est paroxysms. In general, the strength of the passion 
will be found to be in proportion to the value which is 
attached to the object of it; and is, perhaps, more fre¬ 
quently found in persons who have a large share of pride 
than in others. Such, in consequence of the habitual be¬ 
lief of their own superiority, are likely to notice many 
trifling inadvertencies, and to treasure them up as proofs 
of intended neglect, which would not have been observed 
by others, and certainly were exempt from any evil in¬ 
tention. 

The person under the influence of this passion is inca¬ 
pable of forming a correct judgment of the conduct of the 
individual who is the object of it; he observes everything, 
and gives it the worst interpretation; and circumstances 
which, in another state of the mind, would have been 
tokens of innocence, are converted into proof of guilt. 
Although poetry, it is no fiction: 

“ Trifles, light as air, 

Are to the jealous confirmation strong 
As proofs of holy writ.” 

Hence it is justly said to be the monster that “ makes 
the meat it feeds onfor it perseveringly broods over 




THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


369 


the slightest suggestion, even when made with the most 
sincere kindness, and rears up a shapeless and frightful 
form, which in turn nourishes the baleful passion from 
which is derived its own existence. 

It may be remarked of this passion, that it is at times 
exceedingly violent. At one moment the mind is ani¬ 
mated with all the feelings of kindness; the next, it is 
transported with the strongest workings of hatred, and 
then it is suddenly overwhelmed with contrition. Con¬ 
tinually vacillating between the extremes of love and 
hatred, it knows no rest; it would gladly bring destruc¬ 
tion on the object whom it dreads to lose more than any 
other, and whom at times it loves more than any other. 

§ 353. Modifications of resentment. Revenge. 

Another of the marked modifications of Resentment is 
revenge. By the spirit of revenge, as we sometimes ex¬ 
press it, we generally understand a disposition not mere¬ 
ly to return suffering for suffering, but to inflict a degree 
of pain on the person who is supposed to have injured us, 
beyond what strict justice requires. So that revenge 
seems to differ from resentment rather in degree than in 
kind; in other w r ords, it is unrestrained or excessive re¬ 
sentment. It is true, however, that it generally implies 
something more than mere excess. It commonly exhibits 
the aspect of coolness and deliberateness in its designs; 
and is as persevering in the execution of its hostile plans 
as it is deliberate in forming them. If resentment, when 
properly regulated, may be considered, on the principles 
of nature, as morally right, revenge, which is the unre¬ 
strained or inordinate form of resentment, is always mor¬ 
ally wrong. It is a passion which is not only greatly in¬ 
consistent with the due exercise of the other powers of the 
mind, but is equally condemned by enlightened con¬ 
science and the Scriptures. 

$ 354. Nature of the passion of fear. 

We conclude this review of this portion of the Affec¬ 
tions with a single other notice. The passion of Fear, 
like the other passions or affections that have passed under 
examination, embraces both a simple emotion of pain, 








370 THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 

caused by some object which we anticipate will be inju¬ 
rious to us, and also additional to the painful emotion, the 
desire of avoiding such object or its injurious effects.— 
The question might suggest itself with some appearance 
of reason, whether Fear, in view of the definition just 
given, should be included under the general head of the 
Malevolent passions. And this is one of the cases refer¬ 
red to, in separating the Affections into the twofold di¬ 
vision of the Benevolent and Malevolent, when it was 
remarked, it might not in all respects be easy to carry the 
arrangement into effect in its details. Nevertheless, the 
fact that we experience pain in viewing the object feared, 
accompanied with a desire of avoiding it, seems very 
clearly to involve the idea that it is an object of greater 
or less aversion. In other words, that we have more or 
less ill will towards it. It is certainly the case if the 
object is of such a nature that its presence is painful, that 
we can hardly be said to love it. So that, at least, it 
would seem to come more naturally under the head of the 
malevolent affections than under the other class. 

But to return to the nature of the passion itself. The 
strength or intensity of fear will be in proportion to the 
apprehended evil. There is a difference of original sus¬ 
ceptibility of this passion in different persons; and the 
amount of apprehended evil will consequently vary with 
the quickness of such susceptibility. But, whatever 
causes may increase or diminish the opinion of the de¬ 
gree of evil which threatens, there will be a correspond¬ 
ence between the opinion which is formed of it and the 
fearful passion. 

When this passion is extreme, it prevents the due ex¬ 
ercise of the moral susceptibility, and interrupts correct] 
judgment of any kind whatever. It is a.state of mind 
of great power, and one which will not bear to be trifled 
with. It may serve as a profitable hint to remark, that 
there have been persons thrown into a fright suddenly, 
and perhaps in mere sport, which has immediately result¬ 
ed in a most distressing and permanent mental disorgani¬ 
zation.—In cases where the anticipated evil is very great, 
and there is no hope of avoiding it in any way, the mind 
exists in that state which is called despair. But the con- 



THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


371 


sideration of this deplorable state of mind, so far as it 
• may be necessary to meet the objects of the present 
Work, will more properly come under the head of Dis- 
: ordered or Alienated Sensibilities. 


CHAPTER VL 

THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 

$ 355. Of the nature of love or benevolence in general. 

We proceed now to the consideration of the other great 
division of the Affections. As the original principle of 
Resentment is the basis of the Malevolent affections, so 
Love, in its more general form, appears to be at the found¬ 
ation, as a general thing at least, of those which are 
termed, by way of distinction, Benevolent. The affection 
of Love, like the other affections, is a complex state of 
mind, embracing, first, a pleasant emotion in view of 
the object; and, second, a desire of good to that object. 

_Hence there will always be found in the object some 

quality, either some excellence in the form, or in the rela¬ 
tions sustained, or in the intellect, or in the moral traits, 
or in all combined, which is capable of 7 exciting a pleas¬ 
urable emotion. This emotion is the basis of the subse¬ 
quent desire ; but it is the strict and indissoluble combi¬ 
nation of the two that constitutes the Affection properly 
so called* 

It is proper to remark here that there are many mod¬ 
ifications or degrees of this affection; such as the un¬ 
impassioned preference of friendly regard and esteem, 
the warmer glow of friendship in the more usual accep¬ 
tation of the term, and the increased feeling of devoted 
attachment. There are not only differences in degree, 
but the affection itself, considered in respect to its nature 
simply, seems to be modified, and to be invested with a 
different aspect, according to the circumstances in which 
it is found to operate. The love which children feel lor 
their parents is different in some respects from that which 




372 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


they feel for their brothers and sisters. The love of pa¬ 
rents for their children possesses traits, difficult to be de¬ 
scribed in language, but recognisable by Consciousness, 
which distinguish it from their love to mankind gener¬ 
ally, or their love to their country, or their friends. Hence 
we are enabled, in consistency with what is the fact in 
respect to them, to consider the Affections under differ¬ 
ent forms or heads, viz., the Parental affection, the Filial 
affection, the Fraternal affection, Humanity, or the love 
of the human race, Patriotism, or the love of country, 
Friendship, Gratitude, and Sympathy or Pity. 

§ 356. Love, in its various forms, characterized by a twofold action. 

Love, not only in its more general form, but in all the 
varieties which, in consequence of our situation and of 
the relations we sustain, it is made to assume, is charac¬ 
terized, like the opposite principle of resentment, by its 
twofold action. It is sometimes seen, particularly in pa¬ 
rents and children, to operate instinctively ; that is to 
say, without deliberation or forethought. At other times 
it is subjected to more or less of regulation, being either 
stimulated or repressed in its exercise by the facts and 
reflections which are furnished by reasoning; and then it 
is said to possess a deliberate or voluntary exercise.— 
This trait or characteristic, which pervades the whole se¬ 
ries of the Natural or Pathematic sensibilities, has been 
so often referred to that it is unnecessary to delay upon 
it here. 


$ 357. Of the parental affection. 

The principle of benevolence, love, or good-will, which, 
in its general form, has thus been made the subject of a 
brief notice, is susceptible, like the malevolent affection 
of Resentment, of various modifications. One of the 
most interesting and important of these modifications is 
the Parental Affection.—The view which we propose to 
take of this modification of benevolence or love is, that it 
is an original or implanted principle. In support of this 
view a number of things may be said. 

(I.) It is supported, in the first place, by the considera¬ 
tion, that the relation between the parent and child is 



THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


373 


much more intimate and indissoluble than any other. The 
child, in the view of the parent, is not so much a distinct 
I and independent being as a reproduction and continuance 
; of himself. He sees not only the reflection of his person 
I and dispositions in his offspring, but of his hopes, joys, 
i and prospects; in a word, of his whole being. Under 
such circumstances, it is almost impossible that the pa¬ 
rental affection should be less deeply seated, less near to 
the root and bottom of the soul, than any other which 
can be named. 

(II.) Such an affection seems, in the second place, to 
be required in order to enable parents to discharge effec¬ 
tually the duties which are incumbent upon them. The 
cares and troubles necessarily incidental to the parental 
relation, the daily anxieties, the nights of wakeful solici¬ 
tude, the misgivings, the fears, and the sorrows without 
number, it would be impossible for human nature to sup¬ 
port without the aid of an implanted principle.—And 
hence it is, that, in the ordering and constitution of na¬ 
ture, this principle rises in; such inexpressible beauty upon 
the parental heart. It diffuses its light upon it, like a star 
upon a tempestuous ocean, and guides it forward in com¬ 
parative safety. 

(HI.) In the third place, the acknowledged fact that 
this affection has an instinctive as well as a voluntary 
action, is a strong circumstance in favour of its being re¬ 
garded as implanted. A purely voluntary affection can¬ 
not, from the nature of the case, be implanted, because it 
depends upon the Will; and will either exist or not exist, 
in accordance with the mere volitive determination. An 
instinctive affection cannot be otherwise than implanted 5 
because, as it does not depend upon the will, it has no 
other support than in nature. Now, although this affec¬ 
tion has a voluntary action, based upon inquiry and rea¬ 
son, it has also, at its foundation, an instinctive action, 
which is to be regarded as the work of the author of the 
mind himself. So that, although it is proper to accom¬ 
pany the statement with the remark that it has a twofold 
action, the affection, regarded as a whole, may justly be 
looked upon as an original or implanted one. 

(IV.) In the fourth place, its universality is a circum- 





374 THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS* 

stance in favour of the view which has been taken. We 
should naturally expect, in regard to any affection not 
implanted, and which depends exclusively upon the de¬ 
cisions of the reason and the will, that there would be 
frequent failures in its exercise. We may even be confi¬ 
dent that this would be the result. But the parental afFec- 
tion, in a mind not actually disordered, never fails. In 
all climes and countries, and among all classes of men, 
however debased by ignorance or perverted by the prev¬ 
alence of vice, we may find the traces, and with scarcely 
an exception, the marked and distinct traces of this enno¬ 
bling principle. There is no portion of the human race 
so degraded that it would not turn with abhorrence from 
the man that did not love his offspring. 

$ 358. Illustrations of the strength of the parental affection. 

(V.) Another circumstance in favour of regarding the 
principle as an implanted one is its great strength. Sec¬ 
ondary affections, or those which, by a process of associa¬ 
tion, are built upon others, are sometimes, it is true, ex¬ 
ceedingly strong; but this is found to be the case only in 
particular instances, and not as a general trait. In respect 
to the affection before us, it is not found to be strong in 
one mind and w r eak in another, but is strong, excedingly 
strong, as a general statement, in all minds alike. It 
might be interesting to give some illustrations of this 
statement, as, in truth, scarcely any of the facts illustrative 
of the mind’s action in its various departments are wholly 
destitute of interest. But, on this subject, such is the uni¬ 
versal intensity of this affection, that they multiply on 
every side. He who has not noticed them has volunta¬ 
rily shut his eyes to some of the most interesting exhibi¬ 
tions of human nature. So that a single incident of this 
kind, which will not fail to find a corroborative testimony 
in every mother’s heart, will suffice. 

“ When the Ajax man-of-w T ar took fire in the straits of 
Bosphorus in the year 1807, an awful scene of distraction 
ensued. The ship was of great size, full of people, and 
under the attack of an enemy at the time; the mouths of 
destruction seemed to wage in contention for their prey. 
Many of those on board could entertain no hopes of de- 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


375 

liverance: striving to shun one devouring element, they 
were the victims of another. While the conflagration 
: was raging furiously, and shrieks of terror rent the air, 
an unfortunate mother, regardless of herself, seemed soli¬ 
citous only for the safety of her infant child. She never 
attempted to escape; but she committed it to the charge 
of an officer, who, at her earnest request, endeavoured to 
secure it in his coat j and, following the tender deposite 
with her eyes as he retired, she calmly awaited that ca¬ 
tastrophe in which the rest were about to be involved. 
Amid the exertions of the officer in such an emergency, 
the infant dropped into the sea, which was no sooner dis¬ 
covered by the unhappy parent, than, frantic, she plunged 
from the vessel’s side as if to preserve it ; she sunk, and 
was seen no more.”* 

$ 359. Of the filial affection. 

As a counterpart to the interesting and important affec¬ 
tion which has thus been briefly noticed, nature has insti¬ 
tuted the filial affection, or that affection wdiich children 
bear to their parents. The filial affection, although it 
agrees with the parental in the circumstance of its being 
implanted or connatural in the human mind, differs from 
it in some of its traits.—It is understood, among other 
1 things, to possess less strength. And it is undoubtedly 
the fact, that it does not, as a general thing, flow forth 
towards its object with the same burning, unmitigated in- 
■ tensity. And this is just what we might expect, on the 
supposition that the human mind comes from an Author 
who possesses all wisdom. The great practical object for 
which the parental affection is implanted in the bosoms 
of parents, is to secure to their offspring that close atten¬ 
tion and care which are so indispensable in the incipient 
stages of life. The responsibility which rests upon them 
in the discharge of their duties to their children, is, in the 
variety of its applications and in the aggregate of its 
amount, obviously greater than that which rests upon 
children in the discharge of their duty to their parents. 
Nothing could answer, so far as we are able to judge, the 
requisitions which are constantly made on the parent to 
* Origin and Progress of the Passions, (Anonymous,) vol. i., p. 148. 



376 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


meet the child’s condition of weakness, suffering, and 
want, and to avert its liabilities, both mental and bodily, 
to error, but the wakeful energy of a principle stronger 
even than the love of life. But it is different on the part 
of the children. As a general thing, no such calls of 
constant anxiety and watchfulness in the behalf of an¬ 
other are made upon them, at least in the early part of 
their life. Hence their love to their parents, although 
unquestionably strong enough for the intentions of nature, 
burns with a gentler ray. 

§ 360. The filial affection original or implanted. 

We took occasion, in the preceding section, to remark 
incidentally, that the filial affection, as well as the parent¬ 
al, is original or implanted, in distinction from the doc¬ 
trine of its being of an associated or secondary formation. 

It is not our purpose, however, to enter minutely into this 
inquiry; and yet there are one or two trains of thought 
having a bearing upon it which we are unwilling wholly 
to omit.—Our first remark is, that if the filial affection 
were wholly voluntary and not implanted; in other 
words, if it were based wholly on reason and reflection, 
there is no question that it would be extinguished much 
more frequently than it is in point of fact. But that mere 
reason and reflection are not the entire basis of the affec¬ 
tion, seems to be evident from the fact that we continue 
to love our parents under circumstances when reason, if 
we consulted that alone, would probably pronounce them 
unworthy of love. Our parents, as is sometimes the case, 
may treat us with great and unmerited neglect; they may 
plunge into the commission of crimes; they may become 
degraded and despised in the eyes of the community; 
but they still have a pure and elevated place, which na¬ 
ture has furnished for them in their children’s hearts.— 
This train of thought (which, it is proper to remark in 
passing, is equally applicable to parental love, and tends 
to confirm the views brought forward under that head) 
goes with no small weight to show that the affection be- ; 
fore us has an instinctive or natural basis. 

Our second remark, which is also equally applicable to 
the parental affection, is, that men, with scarcely an excep- 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


377 


tion, show, by their judgments and treatment of this affec¬ 
tion, that they regard it as constitutional or implanted. 
It is evident that they expect us to treat our parents with 

I great forbearance and kindness under all circumstances. 
If another person should insult and injure us, public sen¬ 
timent would probably justify us in inflicting some sort of 
punishment. But it would not justify us, under precisely 
the same circumstances of provocation, in inflicting pun¬ 
ishment upon, or even showing marked disrespect to a 
parent, because it would be a violation of nature. Not 
merely the disapprobation, but the contempt and abhor¬ 
rence of mankind, inflicted with scarcely the possibility 
of a failure, is the fearful penalty which nature has at¬ 
tached to a want of parental love, even when the conduct 
of the parent himself has been reprehensible.—This is evi¬ 
dently the work of nature. Men act in this case as their 
nature prompts them. But nature is never at variance 
with herself. If she in this way distinctly intimates that 
she requires us to love our parents at all times, in adver¬ 
sity and in prosperity, in honour and in degradation, in 
good and in evil report, it is obvious that she has not left 
the affection to mere reason and reflection, for it is impos¬ 
sible that love so unchangeable could be sustained in such 
a manner, but supports it upon an instinctive or consti¬ 
tutional basis. 

We merely add, leaving it to the reader himself to 
make the application of the remark, that nearly all the 
considerations which were brought forward to show the 
connatural origin of the parental affection, might be prop¬ 
erly adduced to show the same thing in the case of the 
filial affection. 

§ 361. Illustrations of the filial affection. 

Interesting instances of the results of the filial affection 
are to be found wherever there are men. And while it 
is admitted that there are some unfavourable tendencies 
in human nature, it is pleasant to contemplate it in an as¬ 
pect so amiable and honourable. It is the fact, indeed, that 
children, as a general thing, do not appear to be willing 
to labour and suffer so much for parents as the parents do 
for the children. There are more frequent instances of a 
11 2 



373 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


failure of filial than of parental love. Nevertheless, in 
all ages of the world, the filial affection has sustained it¬ 
self in such a way as to bring honour to the Being that 
implanted it. Children have not only supported and 
consoled their parents in the ordinary duties and trials of 
life, but, in multitudes of instances, have followed them 
with their presence and their consolations into banishment 
and to prison. 

At the accession of the late Emperor Alexander of 
Russia, many prisoners, who had been confined for politi¬ 
cal and other reasons in the preceding reign, were set at 
liberty.—“ I saw,” says Kotzebue, who was in Russia at 
this interesting period, “ an old colonel of the Cossacks 
and his son brought from the fortress to Count de Pahlen’s 
apartments. The story of this generous youth is exreme- 
ly interesting. His father had been dragged, for I know 
not what offence, from Tscherkask to Petersburg, and 
there closely imprisoned. Soon afterward his son arrived, 
a handsome and brave young man, who had obtained, in 
the reign of Catharine II., the cross of St. George and 
that of Wolodimer. For a long time he exerted himself 
to procure his father’s enlargement by solicitations and 
petitions; but, perceiving no hopes of success, he request¬ 
ed, as a particular favour, to be allowed to share his cap¬ 
tivity and misfortunes. This was in part granted to him; 
he was committed a prisoner to the fortress, but was not 
permitted to see his father ; nor was the unfortunate old 
man ever informed that his son was so near him. On a 
sudden the prison bolts were drawn; the doors were 
opened; his son rushed into his arms; and he not only 
learned that he was at liberty, but, at the same time, was 
informed of the noble sacrifice which filial piety had of¬ 
fered. He alone can decide which information pave him 
most delight.”* 

It is true, there have been instances of parents who 
have done more than this ; who have not only been rea¬ 
dy to suffer banishment or imprisoment, but have willing¬ 
ly and joyfully offered their lives for the welfare of then- 
children. In the time of the French Revolution, General 
Loizerolles, availing himself of a stratagem in order to 
* Kotzebue’s Exile, p. 254 . 










THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


379 


iu effect the object, died upon the scaffold in the place of 
it. j s °n* It might not be easy to bring instances, although 
some such. have probably existed, of children dying for 
their parents. But history furnishes some affecting cases, 
where the child has poured back into the parental bosom 
eu I the fountain of life which had been received.—“ The 
mother of a woman,” says the writer referred to, § 168, 
“ in humble life, being condemned at Rome, the jailer, 
)f j rather than execute the sentence, wished from humanity 
!>. to let her perish of famine. Meantime no one but her 
daughter was admitted to the prison, and that after she 
was strictly searched. But the curiosity of the man be¬ 
ing aroused by the unusual duration of her survivance, 
he watched their interview, and discovered the daughter 
affectionately nourishing the author of her days with her 
own milk. The people among whom this incident occur¬ 
red were not insensible of its virtue, and a temple dedica¬ 
ted to Piety was afterward erected on the spot. So was 
an aged father, under similar circumstances, preserved by 
similar means: he, too, was thus nourished by his daugh¬ 
ter.” 

$ 362. Of the nature of the fraternal affection. 

There is one other affection connected with the fami¬ 
ly or domestic relation, which bears the marks, although, 
perhaps, somewhat less distinctly than in the cases already 
mentioned, of a natural or implanted origin. We refer, 
as will be readily understood, to the Fraternal Affection, 
or the love of brothers and sisters. The love which we 
bear to our brothers and sisters, although, in the basis or 
essentiality of its nature, it is the same with any other 
love, has something peculiar about it, a trait not easily 
expressed in words, which, in our internal experience or 
consciousness of it, distinguishes it from every other af- 

I fection. 

We are aware that some will endeavour to explain 
the origin of this affection by saying, that it is owing to 
the circumstance of brothers and sisters being brought up 
together beneath the same roof, and thus participating 
in an early and long companionship. Nor are we dis¬ 
posed to deny, that this circumstance probably has some 
weight in imparting to it an increased degree of inten- 





380 


THff BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


sity. But there is a single fact, which furnishes an an¬ 
swer to the doctrine, that denies a distinct nature to the 
Fraternal Affection, and regards it as a mere modification 
of love in general, occasioned by the circumstance of 
early and long-continued intercourse. It is this. When 
other persons, not members of the same family, are 
brought up beneath the same roof, although we love 
them very much, yet we never have that 'peculiar feeling 
(distinct from every other and known only by experience) 
which flows out to a brother or sister. There is some¬ 
thing in having the same father and mother, in looking 
upward to the same source of origin, in being nourished 
at the same fountain in infancy, in feeling the same life¬ 
blood course through our veins, which constitutes, under 
the creative hand of nature, a sacred tie unlike any other. 

There are other views of the subject, besides that 
which has just been noticed, which contribute to show 
the connaturalness and permanency of this affection. A 
number of the remarks which have been made in support 
of the implanted or connatural origin of the Parental and 
Filial affections, will apply here. But we leave the sub¬ 
ject to the decision of such reflections, as will be likely 
to suggest themselves to the mind of the reader himself. 

$ 363. On the utility of the domestic affections. 

In the institution of the affections which have now 
passed under a rapid and imperfect review, and which, 
taken together, may be spoken of under the general de¬ 
nomination of the Domestic affections, we have evidence 
of that benevolence and wisdom which are seen so fre¬ 
quently in the arrangements of our mental nature. These * 
affections are not only sources of happiness to individu¬ 
als and families, diffusing an undefinable but powerful 
charm over the intercourse of life; they also indirectly 
exert a great influence in the support of society generally. 

It was, indeed, a strange notion of some of the an¬ 
cients, of Plato in particular, that the domestic affections 
are at variance with the love of country ; and that, in 
order to extinguish these affections, children should be 
taken from their parents at their birth, and transferred to 
the state to be educated at the public expense. But the 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


381 


domestic affections are too deeply planted, particularly that 
of parents, to be generally destroyed by any process of 
this kind ; and if it were otherwise, the result would be 
I as injurious to the public as to individual happiness. It 
is unquestionable, that one of the great supports of society 
' is the family relation. Who is most watchful and diligent 
in his business ? Who is the most constant friend of public 
order, and is most prompt in rallying to the standard of 
the law 1 Who, as a general thing, is the best friend, the 
best neighbour, and the best citizen ? Not he who is set 
loose from family relationships, and wanders abroad with¬ 
out a home; but he, however poor and unknown to fame, 
! who has a father and mother, wife and children, brothers 
and sisters; who sees his own sorrows and happiness 
multiplied in the sorrows and happiness of those around 
him; and who is strong in the advocacy and support of 
the common and public good; not only because it in- 
; volves his own personal interest, but the interest and hap¬ 
piness of all those who are linked arm in arm with him- 
I self by the beauty and sacredness of domestic ties. 

I 

$ 364. Of the moral character of the domestic affections, and of the 
benevolent affections generally. 

One of the most interesting inquiries in connexion with 
the domestic affections, and the benevolent affections gen¬ 
erally, and one, too, on which there has been a great di¬ 
versity of opinion, is, whether these affections possess a 
moral character, and what that character is. The more 
common opinion seems to have been, that all affections 
which are truly benevolent are necessarily, and from the 
mere fact of their being benevolent, morally good, or 
virtuous. Nor is it perhaps surprising, that this opinion 
should be so often entertained. Certainly, as compared 
with the other active principles, coming under the gen¬ 
eral head of the Natural or Pathematic sensibilities, they 
hold the highest rank; and we frequently.apply epithets 
to them which indicate our belief of their comparative 
pre-eminence. We speak of them, not only as innocent 
and useful, but as interesting, amiable, and lovely ; and 
from time to time apply other epithets, which equally 
show the favourable place which they occupy in our re- 




382 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


gard. All this we allow; but still they are not necessa¬ 
rily, and in consequence of their own nature simply, 
morally good. 

The correct view on this subject we apprehend to be 
this; (the same that has been taken of other principles, , 
that are analogous in their nature and operation.) So j 
far as the benevolent affections are constitutional or in- I 
stinctive in their action, they are indifferent as to their j 
moral character, being neither morally good nor evil. So i 
far as they have a voluntary action, they will be either 
the one or the other, according to the circumstances of 
the case. When, for instance, the mother hears the sud¬ 
den and unexpected scream of her child in another room, 
and impetuously rushes to its relief, we allow the action 
to be naturally good, and exceedingly interesting and 
lovely; but we do not feel at liberty to predicate virtue of j 
it, and to pronounce it morally good, because it is obvi¬ 
ously constitutional or instinctive. If the act, done un¬ 
der such circumstances, be necessarily virtuous, then it 
clearly follows that virtue may be predicated of sheep, 
cows, and other brute animals, who exhibit, under like 
circumstances, the same instinctive attachment to their 
offspring. So far, therefore, as the benevolent affections 
are instinctive in their operation, they are to be regarded, 
however interesting and amiable they may appear, as 
neither morally good nor evil. 

$ 365. Of the moral character of the voluntary exercises of the benevo¬ 
lent affections. 

But so far as the benevolent affections are voluntary; 
in other words, so far as they exist in view of motives 
voluntarily and deliberately brought before the mind, 
they may be, according to the nature of the voluntary ef¬ 
fort, either virtuous or vicious. Take, as an illustration, 
another instance of the operations of the maternal affec¬ 
tion. The basis of this affection is unquestionably pure 
instinct. But it has, in addition to this, a voluntary oper¬ 
ation ; and this accessory operation, it is to be presumed, 
is in the majority of cases virtuous. Nevertheless, when¬ 
ever this amiable and ennobling affection becomes inor¬ 
dinately strong, when under its influence the mother 



THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


383 


' leaves the child to vicious courses, against the remon- 
j strances of the sentiment of duty, its exercise evidently 
; becomes vicious.—On the other hand, if the mother, per- 
3 haps in consequence of the improper conduct of the child, 

> or a perplexing inability to meet its numerous wants, or 
* for some other reason, finds its affection falling below the 
‘ standard which is requisite in order to fulfil the intentions 
r of nature, and in this state of things restores and invigo- 
1 i rates its exercise by a careful and serious consideration of 
‘ all the responsibilities involved in the maternal relation, it 
is equally clear that its exercise at once assumes the op- 
' posite character, not merely of amiableness, but of virtue. 

$ 366. Of the connexion between benevolence and rectitude. 

We may add to what has now been remarked, that 
the highest and most ennobling form of benevolence ex¬ 
ists in connexion with strict justice. Perfect justice is, by 
the constitution of things, indissolubly conjoined with the 
general and the highest good. All forms and degrees of 
benevolence, which are at variance, whether more or less, 
with perfect rectitude, although they are aiming at good 
or happiness, are nevertheless seeking something less than 
the greatest possible happiness. Even benevolence, there¬ 
fore, is, and ought to be, subjected to some regulating 
power. Whenever we distinctly perceive that its present 
indulgence in any given case will tend, whatever may be 
its immediate bearing, to ultimate unhappiness and misery, 
we are sacredly bound by the higher considerations of 
duty to repress it. And there is as much virtue in re¬ 
pressing its action at such times as there would be at' 
other times in stimulating it. 

One of the most benevolent men of whom history 
gives us any account was Bartholomew Las Casas, bish- 
1 op of Chiapa. In 1502 he accompanied Ovando to 
Hispaniola, who had been commissioned and sent out 
as the Spanish governor to that island. He there wit¬ 
nessed, with all the pain of a naturally benevolent heart, 
the cruel treatment which was experienced by the native 
inhabitants; the deprivation of their personal rights, the 
seizure of their lands, their severe toil, and inexorable 
punishment. He was deeply affected; and from that 






384 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


time devoted the whole of his subsequent life, a period 
of more than sixty years, to exertions in their behalf. ! 
Under the impulse of a most unquestionable benevolence, i 
this good man recommended to Cardinal Ximenes, who 
was at that time at the head of Spanish affairs, the intro¬ 
duction of Negro slaves into the West India Islands, as 
one of the best methods of relief to the native inhabitants. 

We introduce this statement for the purpose of illus¬ 
trating our subject. The measures of Las Casas, which 
tended to introduce enslaved Africans into the Spanish 
islands, were the results, beyond all question, of a holy 
and exalted benevolence. But if he could have foreseen 
the treatment of the Negroes, still more dreadful than 
that to which the native inhabitants were subjected; if 
he could have beheld in anticipation the desolations 
which have spread over Africa in consequence of the 
Slave Trade, it would have been his duty, whatever good 
might have immediately resulted to the Indians, in whose 
behalf he was so deeply interested, to have checked and 
controlled his benevolent feelings, and to have endured 
the present rather than have been accessory to the future 
evil. The indulgence of his benevolence to the native 
inhabitants, under such circumstances and in such a form, 
(however amiable and interesting benevolence, in itself 
considered, undoubtedly is in all cases whatever,) would 
have been a violation of duty, and consequently a sin.— 

So false and pernicious is that system which ascribes to 
benevolence in its own nature, and independently of its 
relations to the law of rectitude, the character of virtue. 

§ 367. Of humanity, or the love of the human race. 

Another of the implanted affections is humanity, or the 
love of the human race.—On this subject there are only 
three suppositions to be made, viz., that man is by nature 
indifferent to the welfare of his fellow-man, or that he 
naturally regards him with feelings of hostility, or that 
he has a degree of interest in his welfare and loves him. 
That man is by nature entirely indifferent to the welfare 
of his fellow-beings, is a proposition which will not be 
likely to meet with many supporters; still less the propo¬ 
sition, although some have been found to advocate it, 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


385 


that he is by nature and instinctively the enemy of man. 
But, in endeavouring to support the third proposition, that 
he has naturally a degree of interest in, and a desire for 
the welfare of the members of the human race generally, 
expressed by the terms humanity or philanthropy, we 
wish it to be understood that we do not, as a general thing, 
claim for the exercise of this affection any marked inten¬ 
sity. It is too evident that it possesses but little strength 
compared with what it should; and that it falls far short 
of the Scriptural requisition, which exacts the same love 
for our neighbour as for ourselves. The fact undoubtedly 
is, that the principle is impeded in its action and dimin¬ 
ished in its results by the inordinate exercise of the prin¬ 
ciple of self-love, which is constantly recalling our at¬ 
tention within the restricted circle of our personal inter¬ 
ests. But the affection of humanity, although thus re¬ 
stricted in its action, and depressed far below the stand¬ 
ard which its great Author justly claims for it, has never¬ 
theless an existence. 

This is shown, in the first place, from the great interest 
which is always taken, and by all classes of persons, in 
anything which relates to human nature, to man consid¬ 
ered as a human being, irrespective, in a great degree, of 
his country and of the period of his existence. There are 
numerous other subjects of inquiry; and we undoubtedly 
feel a considerable degree of interest in whatever reaches 
us from different quarters of the earth in respect to their 
structure, climate, and resources. But it is chiefly when 
man is mentioned that the heart grows warm. We listen 
to the story of his situation and fortunes, even for the first 
time, as of one in whom flows the same fountain of life. 
When we touch a string here, we find a vibration in every 
human heart. The mere aspect of man, the mere sound 
of the human voice, unaided by a multitude of associations 
which often enhance their effect, awakens emotions of 
regard and interest. And seldom can we find a person 
so immersed in his own selfishness as boldly and openly 
to avow, that the pursuit of his personal interests, with 
whatever good reasons it may in itself seem to be justi¬ 
fied, is a valid and honourable excuse for annulling the 
Kk 



386 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


claims of humanity, and sundering the tie of universal 
brotherhood. 

$ 368. Further proofs in support of the doctrine of an innate humanity, 
or love for the human race. 

In the second place, the testimony of individuals who 
have been so situated as to put the natural sentiments of 
mankind in this respect to a fair trial, is favourable to 
the doctrine of the natural existence of humane or philan¬ 
thropic feelings. We refer here, in particular, to the 
statements of travellers, who, either by design or by acci¬ 
dent, have been placed, for a considerable time, among 
Savage tribes; without meaning, however, to exclude 
those who, in civilized lands, have been favourably situ¬ 
ated for ascertaining the tendencies of the human heart. 
Kotzebue, for instance, who was suddenly seized and sent 
an exile into Siberia, where he remained some time, was 
thrown into the company of various classes of persons 
under such circumstances that he could hardly fail to form 
a correct judgment in the matter under consideration. 
The Narrative of his Exile, which is exceedingly interest¬ 
ing, discovers the human mind, considered as naturally 
disposed to the misery or happiness of the human race, 
under a decidedly favourable aspect. In the recollection 
of the good and the evil he had experienced, and in view 
of the numerous facts recorded in his book, he exclaims : 
“ How few hard-hearted and insensible beings are to be 
met with in my Narrative! My misfortunes have con¬ 
firmed me in the opinion, that man may put confidence in 
his fellow-man.” 

Almost all the travellers into the interior of Africa, 
Vaillant, Park, Sparman, Clapperton, Denham, the Lan¬ 
ders, and others, although they travelled among tribes in 
the highest degree ignorant and degraded, constantly 
speak of the kindness they experienced.—On a certain 
occasion, Park, for reasons connected with the circum¬ 
stance of his being an entire stranger in the country, was 
obliged to remain all day without food. About sunset, 
as he was turning his horse loose to graze, and had be¬ 
fore him the prospect of spending the night in solitude 
and hunger, a woman happened to pass near him as she 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


387 


was returning from her employment in the fields. As¬ 
tonished at seeing a white man, she stopped to gaze upon 
him; and, noticing his looks of dejection and sorrow, 
kindly inquired from what cause they proceeded. When 
Park had explained his destitute situation, the woman 
immediately took up his saddle and bridle, and desired 
him to follow her to her home. There, after having 
lighted a lamp, she presented him with some broiled fish, 
spread a mat for him to lie upon, and gave him permis¬ 
sion to remain in her humble dwelling till the morning. 
Park informs us, that, during the chief part of the night, 
the woman and her female companions were occupied 
with spinning; and that they beguiled their labour with 
a variety of songs; one of which had reference to his 
own situation. The air was sweet and plaintive, and the 
words were literally as follows. “ The winds roared, and 
the rains fell. The poor white man, faint and weary, 
came and sat under our tree. He has no mother to bring 
him milk, no wife to grind him corn. Let us pity the 
white man; no mother has he to bring him milk, no 
wife to grind him corn.” 

$ 369. Proofs of a humane or philanthropic principle from the existence 
of benevolent institutions. 

It will be noticed, we do not assert that the principle 
of love to our fellow-men, considered simply as members 
of the human race, is as strong in the human mind as it 
should be. All we propose to assert and maintain is, 
that it actually has an existence there to some extent. 
And, among other proofs, we might, in the third place, 
properly refer to those numerous benevolent institutions, 
such as hospitals, infirmaries, asylums, houses of refuge, 
charity schools, and charitable societies of every descrip¬ 
tion, which exist in all parts of the world. It is true that 
institutions of this kind flourish most, and it is a circum¬ 
stance exceedingly honourable to the tendency of the 
Christian religion, in Christian countries. But the fact 
undoubtedly is, that, on suitable inquiry, we may find 
evidences in a diminished degree, of benevolent efforts, 
and traces of benevolent institutions, such as have been 
now referred to, in lands not thus highly favoured. In 



388 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


the recently-published life of the Missionary Swartz, (ch 
xi.,) we find the following incidental remark, which 
throws light upon the state of things in India. Speaking 
of the territory of Tanjore, the writer says, “Its capital, 
bordering on the Delta of the Coleroon and the Cavary, 
is wealthy and splendid, adorned with a pagoda, which 
eclipses in magnificence all other structures in the South 
of India; and exceeding, in the number of its sacred 
buildings and charitable institutions , all the neighbouring 
provinces.” 

Among other facts kindred with those which have now 
been alluded to, it is well known, that when any portion 
of the human race have been subjected by fire, war, fam¬ 
ine, the pestilence, or some convulsion of nature, to great 
affliction, an interest is felt, and efforts are made in their 
behalf in other countries. As an illustration of what we 
mean, it will suffice to remark, that when, some years 
since, the Greek nation, and, still more recently, the in¬ 
habitants of the Cape de Verd Islands, were in a state of 
extreme want, although they were a remote people, and 
scarcely known among us, a number of vessels, in both 
cases, were sent from this country to their assistance, 
loaded with provisions at the expense of private individ¬ 
uals. Many facts of this kind might be mentioned, which 
are obviously inconsistent with the idea that man is indif¬ 
ferent to the welfare of his fellow-man, much more that 
men are naturally hostile to each other. 

$ 370. Other remarks in proof of the same doctrine. 

In the fourth place, the principle of humanity is requi¬ 
site, in order to render human nature at all consistent 
with itself.—We have, for instance, implanted within us 
the desire of Esteem, which is universal in its operation. 
But why should we be so constituted as naturally to de¬ 
sire the esteem of those whom, at the same time, we nat¬ 
urally hate or are indifferent to 1 There is no question 
that Sociality, or the desire of society, is connatural to the 
human mind; but is it presumable that men are so crea¬ 
ted as earnestly to covet the society of others, when, at 
the same, time, those whose company they seek are, by 
the constitution of nature, the objects of entire indiffer- 





THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


389 


ence or of decided aversion ? We have within us, as we 
shall have occasion to notice hereafter, the 'distinct prin¬ 
ciple of Pity or Sympathy, which prompts us both to pre¬ 
vent suffering and to relieve it when it exists; a principle 
which no one supposes is designed by nature to be limit¬ 
ed in its operation to the immediate circle of our relatives 
and friends, but which has men as such for its object, and 
the wide world for the field of its exercise. But on what 
grounds of wisdom or consistency is it possible that na¬ 
ture should prompt men to relieve or prevent the suffer¬ 
ings of others, whom she also imperatively requires us to 
regard with sentiments of hostility, or, at least, with un¬ 
feeling coldness? Furthermore, our Conscience requires 
us to treat our fellow-men, in all ordinary cases, with 
kindness, and we experience an internal condemnation 
when we do not do it; which would at least not be the 
case if we were the subjects of a natural hostility to them. 
—It is on such grounds we assert that human nature, in 
order to be consistent with itself, requires a principle of 
good-will or love to man, considered simply as possessing 
a kindred origin and nature. 

$ 371. Of patriotism or love of country. 

One of the most important modifications of that more 
general and extensive form of good-will or benevolence 
which extends to all mankind, is patriotism, or love of 
country. It seems to be the intention of nature, when 
we consider the diversities of customs and languages that 
exist, and particularly that, in many cases, countries are 
distinctly separated from each other, by large rivers, lakes, 
gulfs, mountains, and seas, that mankind, instead of be¬ 
ing under one government, shall exist in separate and dis¬ 
tinct communities or nations, each having its own institu¬ 
tions and civil polity. And such, at any rate, is the fact. 
We are not only members of mankind and citizens of the 
world, (a relation which ought to be more distinctly and 
fully recognised than it ever has been,) but are mem¬ 
bers, and, as such, have appropriate duties to fulfil, of our 
own particular community. And it is thus that a founda¬ 
tion is laid for that particular state of mind which we de¬ 
nominate Patriotism. 


K k 2 




390 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


This affection we regard as secondary rather than origi¬ 
nal. It is that love which we exercise, and ought to ex¬ 
ercise, towards the members of our species considered as 
such, heightened by the consideration that those towards 
whom it is put forth are sprung from the same race, in¬ 
habit the same territory, are under the same constitutions 
of government, speak the same language, and have the 
same interests. So that the love of our race, as it is mod¬ 
ified in the form of love of our country, while it is more 
restricted, becomes proportionally more intense. And, in 
point of fact, it is unquestionably one of the predominant 
and ruling principles which regulate the conduct of men. 

Nevertheless, we are not to suppose that there is neces¬ 
sarily any conflict between these two principles. For, in 
doing good to our country we are doing good to mankind; 
and to that particular portion of mankind which Provi¬ 
dence, by placing them more immediately within the scope 
of our observation and effort, seems to have assigned as 
the especial field of our beneficence. At the same time it 
cannot be denied, that patriotism, in its irregular and un¬ 
restrained exercise, does sometimes, and but too frequent¬ 
ly, interfere with Philanthropy, or the love of man. The 
passion of patriotism, as a general thing, has become dis¬ 
proportionate in degree, as compared with the love of 
the human race. The interests of our country, by being 
continually brooded over, are exaggerated to our percep¬ 
tion ; while those of mankind are too much lost sight of. 
There is too much ground for the feeling lamentation of 
Cowper: 

“ Lands intersected by a narrow frith 
• Abhor each other. Mountains interposed 
Make enemies of nations, who had else, 

Like kindred drops, been mingled into one.” 

§ 372. Of the affection of friendship. 

Another interesting modification of that feeling of 
good-will or love, which, as men, we naturally bear to our 
fellow-men, is denominated Friendship. It is a passion 
so distinctly marked, that it well deserves a separate no¬ 
tice, although there are no good grounds for regarding 
it, considered as a distinct affection, as connatural. The 
love which we bear to our species is so diffused, that it 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


391 


cannot be said, as a general thing, to possess a high de¬ 
gree of strength. As it withdraws from the vast circum¬ 
ference of the human race, and contracts its exercise 
within the narrow circle of our country, it acquires in- 
| creased energy. Retreating within the still more restrict- 
| ed limits which imbody those with whom we are most 
j accustomed to associate, it assumes a new modification, 

: being not only characterized by greater strength, but a 
i source of greater pleasure. And this, in distinction from 
* Humanity or Philanthropy, which extends to all mankind, 
as well as in distinction from Patriotism, which merely 
spreads itself over the extent of our country, we call 

FRIENDSHIP. 

This affection, like the other benevolent affections 
which have been mentioned, includes in itself an emo¬ 
tion of pleasure, combined with the desire of good to its 
object. It exists, or may be supposed to exist, in respect 
to those persons who are not only so situated as to be the 
subjects of our intimacy, but possess such qualities as to be 
deserving of our esteem. It is, perhaps, a common remark, 
in connexion with this particular view of the subject, that 
a similarity of character is requisite as the basis of this af¬ 
fection. This, to some extent, is true; but the remark 
is not to be received .without some limitation. It is cer¬ 
tainly the case, that friendship is consistent with diversi¬ 
ties of intellect. Persons who differ much in the quick¬ 
ness and amplitude of intellectual action, may neverthe- 
; less entertain for each other a sincere friendship. But it 
must be admitted, it does not readily appear how such 
friendship can exist in the case of persons who differ es¬ 
sentially in moral character. The fact that one of the 
parties is virtuous, the other vicious; that one of them 
attaches his highest veneration and esteem to that recti¬ 
tude which the other regards as of no value, can hard¬ 
ly fail to interpose between them, as far as the reciproca¬ 
tion of friendship is concerned, an insuperable barrier. 

$ 373. Of the affection of pity or sympathy. 

It is not unfrequently the case that we find around us 
objects of suffering ; those who, from want, or disease, or 
some other cause, are justly entitled to the aid of their 





392 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


fellow-men. In order to meet this state of things, Provi¬ 
dence has kindly implanted within us the principle of 
Pity, which prompts us, by an instinctive and powerful 
impulse, to render the aid which is so frequently needed. 
This benevolent affection differs from others, in being 
based upon a painful instead of a pleasant emotion. 
The occasion of the exercise of the affection of Pity or 
Sympathy is some case of suffering. On contemplating 
the scene of suffering, it is the result, in all ordinary ca¬ 
ses, that we experience a painful emotion, which is fol¬ 
lowed by a desire to relieve the suffering object. 

This principle is practically a very important one. It 
is a sentiment of Bishop Butler, expressed in connexion 
with this very subject, that the misery of men is much 
more directly, and to a much greater extent, under the 
power of others than their happiness. The sources of 
happiness, both mental and bodily, are to a great extent 
in ourselves; and although they are susceptible of in¬ 
crease through the instrumentality of the kind offices of 
others, yet not ordinarily in a very great degree. But it 
is in the power of any individual, who is thus evilly dis¬ 
posed, to plunge others, not one or two merely, but even 
whole neighbourhoods, into misery. The principle of 
Pity, which is called forth not only in the actual but also 
in the anticipated prospect of suffering, aids, in connex¬ 
ion with other causes, in keeping under proper restraint 
any tendency to a wrong exercise of this important pow¬ 
er. It not only exercises the important office of prevent¬ 
ing suffering, by operating, as it were, in anticipation, but 
it visits, watches over, and relieves it when it has actual¬ 
ly occurred. And in this last point of view particularly, 
as well as in the other, it commends itself to our notice 
and admiration as a practical principle eminently suited 
to the condition and wants of man. j 

§ 374. Of the moral character of pity. 

It is an opinion sometimes expressed, that an affection 
so amiable, and generally so useful as that of Pity, can¬ 
not be otherwise than virtuous. It is not wonderful, when 
we take into view the interesting character of the affec¬ 
tion, that such an opinion should be entertained; but we 



THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


393 


cannot regard it as strictly correct. It is well understood, 
so much so as not to be considered a matter of doubt, that 
this affection operates in the first instance instinctively. 
And it is easy to see the intention of nature in instituting 
this form of its action. In a multitude of cases where 
we can relieve the sufferings of our fellow-men, our as¬ 
sistance would come too late if we acted on the hesita¬ 
ting and cautious suggestions of reason. An instinctive 
action, therefore, is necessary. And, so far as the action 
of the principle is of this kind, it must be obvious that 
it is neither virtuous nor vicious. 

But there is another view of this subject. The prin¬ 
ciple of sympathy may be checked in its exercise when 
it is too intense, or increased when deficient, under the 
influences of a deliberate and voluntary effort. And, un¬ 
der these circumstances, its action may have a voluntary 
character, being right or wrong according to the circum¬ 
stances of the case. It is right when it is subordinated 
to the requisitions of an enlightened conscience; but oth¬ 
erwise it is wrong. And it may be wrong by excess as 
well as by defect. If, for instance, we happened to see a 
person severely but justly punished under the authority 
of law, we might exercise pity in his behalf. But if, un¬ 
der the mere impulse of pity, we should be led to attempt 
his rescue, in violation of the rights and interests of soci¬ 
ety, such an exercise of it would be wrong. Again, we 
can hardly fail to pity the wretchedness of the emaciated 
beggar who asks for our assistance j but if we aie well 
persuaded that the bestowment of alms will only tend to 
encourage those vicious habits which have led to this 
wretchedness, it may become a duty both to check our 
sympathy and to withhold our aid. 

At the same time we do not deny, that we may very 
justly draw inferences in favour of the virtuousness of 
that man’s character in whom this interesting passion is 
predominant. And we say this, because, although sym¬ 
pathy does not necessarily imply virtuousness, yet, in point 
of fact, it is seldom the case that they are at variance 
with each other. They generally run in the same track, 
acting harmoniously together. 




394 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


$ 375. Of the affection of gratitude. 

Another distinct modification of that general state of 
the mind which is denominated love, is the implanted or 
connatural affection of gratitude. Although this, like 
the other benevolent affections, includes an emotion of 
pleasure or delight, combined with a desire of good or a 
benevolent feeling towards the object of it, it nevertheless 
has its characteristics, which clearly distinguish it from 
them. We never give the name of gratitude, for in¬ 
stance, to this combination of pleasant and benevolent 
feeling, except it arise in reference to some benefit or ben¬ 
efits conferred. Furthermore, gratitude involves, as the 
basis or occasion of its origin, not only the mere fact of a 
good conferred, but of a designed or intentional benefit. 
If the benefit which we have received can be traced to 
some private or selfish motive on the part of the person 
from whom it comes, we may be pleased, as we probably 
shall be, with the good that has accrued to us; but shall 
cease, from the moment of the discovery of his motive, 
to entertain any gratitude to the author of it. Gratitude, 
therefore, can never be excited within us, except in view 
of what is in fact, or is supposed to be, true, unadultera¬ 
ted benevolence. 

Different individuals manifest considerable diversity in 
the exercise of grateful emotions. There are some per¬ 
sons who exhibit, in the reception of the favours conferred 
upon them, but slight visible marks of grateful regard; 
others are incapable of such a passive reception of bene¬ 
fits, and are strongly affected with their bestowal. This 
difference is probably owing, in part, to original diver¬ 
sities of constitution; and is partly to be ascribed to 
different views of the characters and duties of men, or to 
other adventitious circumstances. 



THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS, 


395 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 

LOVE TO THE SUPREME BEING. 

$ 376. Man created originally with the principle of love to God. 

In order to preserve the other principles of human na¬ 
ture in the position which the great Author of that na¬ 
ture has assigned to them, and to render their action just 
in itself and harmonious in its relations, we have reason 
to believe that there was originally in the human consti¬ 
tution a principle of love to the Supreme Being. This 
affection, it may well be supposed, was entirely analo¬ 
gous, both in its nature and its operations, to the other 
Benevolent Affections, possessing, like them, a twofold 
action, instinctive and voluntary. It differed, however, 
greatly in the degree or intensity of its action; being 
rendered to its appropriate object, as might be expected 
from the unspeakably high and holy nature of that ob¬ 
ject, with all the energy of which the mind was capable. 
That man must have been created originally with such a 
principle of love, overruling and regulating all the sub¬ 
ordinate principles, we think must be evident, in the first 
place, from the considerations furnished by Analogy. 

In all the departments of the mind, so far as it has 

I hitherto passed under our examination, we have seen ev¬ 
idences of contrivance and wisdom; everything has its 
place, adaptations, and uses; and nothing, so far as we 
can judge, is done imperfectly. If it were necessary in 
this inquiry to put out of view the Intellect, so wonder- 
L ful in its adaptation and its resources, we should hardly 
fail to find, in the distinct departments of the Sensibilities, 
ample illustrations and proofs of this remark. The In¬ 
stincts, which naturally arrest our attention first, have ob¬ 
viously their appropriate place and office; and although 
they rank lowest in the enumeration of our active prin¬ 
ciples, are yet indispensable. If man were constituted 




396 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 



physically as he is at present, and yet without the Appe¬ 
tites, the next higher class of the principles involving de¬ 
sire, there would obviously be a want of adaptation be¬ 
tween his mental and physical arrangements. The Pro¬ 
pensities also, as we advance still upward, have each their 
sphere of action, their specific nature and uses; and are 
adapted with wonderful skill to the necessities of man, 
and to the relations he sustains. The same remark, and 
perhaps in a still higher sense, will apply to the Affec¬ 
tions.—As a father, a man has a natural affection for his 
children, that he may thus be supported in the discharge 
of the arduous duties he owes to them; as a child, he has 
naturally an affection for his parents; and as man simply, 
he is evidently constituted with a degree of love for his 
fellow-man. 

When we consider the relations which men sustain, still 
more important than those which are the basis of the 
principles which have been mentioned, are we not justi¬ 
fied in saying, on the ground of Analogy, that there must 
have been originally in the human constitution a princi¬ 
ple of love to the Supreme Being ? If there was not 
originally in the mental constitution such a principle as 
love to God, was not the structure of the mind in that re¬ 
spect obviously at variance with what the Analogy of its 
nature in other respects requires ? If, from the urgent 
necessities of our situation, there must be strong ties of 
love, binding together parents, and children, and brothers; 
if these ties must reach and bind with some degree of 
strictness all the members of the human family, on what 
principle can the doctrine be sustained, that man was 
originally created without an implanted love to that Be¬ 
ing, who is infinitely more and better to him than an 
earthly brother or father 1 

$ 377. That man was originally created with a principle of love to 
God, further shown from the Scriptures. 

In the second place, we have great reason to believe, 
from the testimony of the Scriptures, that man was, in 
the first instance, created with the distinct and operative 
principle of love to his Creator. At the creation, it is 
worthy of notice, that everything which came from the 



LOVE TO THE SUPREME BEING. 


397 


hands of the great Architect was pronounced to be good. 
But if man, raised from nothingness into existence, fur¬ 
nished with high powers of thought and action, and sup¬ 
ported by the daily gifts of the divine bounty, was cre¬ 
ated without a principle of love to his Maker, (analo¬ 
gous to the other implanted affections, only that it exist¬ 
ed in an exceedingly higher degree, corresponding to the 
greatness of the object,) we cannot deny that we are ut¬ 
terly unable to perceive in such a result the basis of so 
marked a commendation, as far as the parents of the 
human race were concerned. It would seem, on the 
contrary, that such a work, framed with such a disregard 
of the most important relations, could not be pronounced 
good, even in the estimate of human reason, much less in 
that of a reason infinitely comprehensive and divine. 

But, furthermore, man is expressly said to have been 
created in the image of his Maker. That is to say, in 
the great outlines of his mental constitution, he was, in 
the first instance, a copy, (on a very limited scale, it is 
true,) but still a copy, in fact, of the Divine Mind. But 
we must suppose that God, both in his administration of 
justice and benevolence, is regulated by a wise and full 
consideration of the relations of things. He always 
loves from the very perfection of his nature, what is 
worthy to be loved; and if he created man in his own 
image, (that is to say, with affections and moral senti¬ 
ments corresponding to the nature and relations of things,) 
He must have created him with a disposition to love him¬ 
self. We are not at liberty to suppose that he could 
by possibility create a being who should either hate or 
be indifferent towards another being, whom he knew not 
only to be infinitely wise and good, but to sustain the re¬ 
lation of a Creator, preserver, and benefactor. A being 
thus created, so utterly wanting in those affections which 
are required by the immutable relations of things, could 
hardly be said, with any degree of truth, to be created in 
the image of God. We infer, therefore, from the state¬ 
ment of man’s being created in the Divine image, that 
he was created with a principle of love to his Maker. 
And the same reason leads us to believe, that the princi¬ 
ple was paramount to every other $ corresponding, as far 


398 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS* 


as the limited powers of man would permit, to the infi¬ 
nitely exalted nature of its object And, in addition to 
this, the analogy of the other implanted principles points 
to the conclusion, that, like them, it possesses a twofold 
action, instinctive and voluntary. 

$ 378. Further proof that man was thus created. 

Again, many of those passages of Scripture which are 
addressed to man in his present fallen state, appear to 
contemplate the restoration of this great principle. When 
the Saviour, on a certain occasion, was asked, in respect 
to the commandments, which of them was to be regarded 
as having the first or leading place, his answer was; 
“ Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, 
and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the 
first and great commandment.” Matt, xxii., 37, 38. 
This language implies, to say the least, the possibility of 
the existence of this principle; and particularly, that in 
a sinless or perfect state of the human race, it is indispen¬ 
sable.—Finally, that renovation of our nature, which is 
so frequently spoken of in the New Testament under the 
name of a New Creation or New Birth, and which is rep¬ 
resented as being brought about by divine assistance, 
unquestionably, in the meaning of the writers of the Scrip¬ 
tures, involves the restoration of this essential element of 
the mental constitution. To be what he is required to be, 
man must be what he was before the Fall; and in order 
to be in this situation, the great requisite is, what has just 

been mentioned, to love God with all the heart._We feel 

authorized, therefore, in asserting, that originally supreme 
love to God was an essential element of human nature • 
and that, at the present moment, it is, or ought to be in 
every human bosom, a distinct and operative principle 
Its presence, as we shall be led to see in the succeeding 
section, makes man what he was designed to be; its ab¬ 
sence furnishes an easy and philosophical explanation of 
those evils which, in the present state of things, so fre¬ 
quently press themselves on our notice. 

$ 379. Relation of the principle of supreme love to God to the other 
principles of the pathematic sensibilities. 

In giving an account, in their succession and place, of 


LOVE TO THE SUPREME BEING. 399 

the principles of action which go to constitute the depart¬ 
ment of the Pathematic sensibilities, we feel at liberty, 
from what has been remarked, to place at their head, 
both as most important in its results and as highest in 
rank, the principle of supreme love to God. If it be said, 
as undoubtedly it may be said with too much truth, that 
this principle of human action, considered as a distinct 
and permanent principle, is obliterated, it is nevertheless 
true that it is susceptible, with divine aid, of a restora¬ 
tion. If it be asserted that men are not naturally gov¬ 
erned by it, it still remains certain, if the precepts of 
Scripture may be understood with their obvious import, 
that they ought to be governed by it. 

Mental philosophy, as well as Divine Revelation, clear¬ 
ly indicates, that there has been at some period a great 
mental convulsion; that the glory of the human mind, 
although not absolutely extinct, is greatly obscured ; and 
that man, in respect to his intellectual and moral condi¬ 
tion, is truly and aptly described as a fallen being. And 
in this deplorable state of moral obliquity and mutilation 
he will continue to remain, if the views which have been 
proposed are correct, until the principle of supreme love 
to God is reinstated. The wisdom which we claim for 
the structure of human nature cannot be asserted with 
confidence to exist, except on the supposition that this 
great pillar of its support originally belonged to it, and 
may yet, by possibility, belong to it. 

Now supposing this principle to exist in the human 
mind, either by being originally implanted as in Adam, 
or by being restored under the name of a Regeneration 
or New Creation, we naturally proceed to inquire what 
relation it holds to the other principles in this department 
of the mind, and what results are likely to attend upon it. 
In point of mere rank, (that is to say, in the position 
which it occupies and ought to occupy in our estima¬ 
tion,) we cannot hesitate to say that it stands first; not 
only before the Appetites and Propensities, but before all 
the other Affections, the class with which it is itself prop¬ 
erly arranged ; taking the precedence by an incalculable 
remove, not only of the love of country and the love of 
friends, but of the love of parents and children. “ He 


400 THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 

that loveth father or mother more than me, is not worthy 
of me; and he that loveth son or daughter more than 
me, is not worthy of me.” Matt, x., 37. The beneficial 
results connected with the exercise of this principle are 
such as might be expected from the pre-eminent rank it 
sustains. When it is in its full exercise, rendered to its 
appropriate object, in the language of Scripture, with all 
the heart, and mind, and soul, it may be regarded as a 
matter of course, that all the subordinate principles will 
be kept in their place. The appetites, the propensities, 
and the domestic affections still exist; but such is the 
ascendency of love to the Supreme Being, that every in¬ 
ordinate tendency is rebuked, and they all revolve in the 
circle which God in the beginning assigned to them. 

$ 380. The absence of this principle attended with an excessive and 
sinful action of other principles. 

Now take for a moment the opposite view, and let us 
see if we may not account for what has sometimes been 
called the Depravity of human nature, without the neces¬ 
sity of supposing the implantation of principles which, in 
themselves necessarily, and under all circumstances, are 
evil. If the principle of Supreme love to God be removed 
from the place which both Scripture and reason agree in 
assigning to it in the original constitution of the mind, 
one of the most important checks on the undue exercise 
of the subordinate principles is of course taken away. 
The love which is drawn from the great source of all 
good will naturally centre in ourselves, and the princi¬ 
ples which have relation to our present enjoyment and 
interest will become predominant. Hence we see the 
disorders which all impartial inquirers, even heathen phi¬ 
losophers, acknowledge to exist in the human race; and 
which it is the aim of enlightened reason and philosophy, 
and particularly of religion in its instructions and its spe¬ 
cial influences, to rectify. The Appetites, which before 
had their appropriate place and offices, have now broken 
over their allotted limits, and are, on every hand, leading 
their victims into the various forms of excess and de¬ 
bauchery. The Propensities, many of which connect us 
closely with our fellow-beings, and in their proper exer- 


LOVE TO THE SUPREME BEING. 


401 


cise impart no small degree of strength and enjoyment to 
human character, have become inordinately intense in 
their action. Conscience, it is true, continues to repeat 
its remonstrances; and the Will, under the suggestions 
of Conscience, makes more or less of resistance ; but as 
they are not sustained by the love of the Supreme Being, 
which could not fail, if it existed, to operate in their fa¬ 
vour, the contest becomes unequal, and the efforts which 
they make are found to be unavailing. In this state of 
things, men who, under other circumstances, would have 
leaned, and loved to lean, on the great arm of the Al¬ 
mighty for support, now find their chief enjoyment in the 
pursuit of wealth and power, and in the unrestricted in¬ 
tercourse and the uncertain enjoyments of the world.—It 
is in such a condition of things as this that we find the 
true source of the follies and crimes which afflict the hu¬ 
man race. The dethronement of God in the heart neces¬ 
sarily involves the predominance of principles which, 
however innocent and useful in their just exercise, become 
in their excess evil, and “ only evil continually.” 

$ 381. Further illustrations of the results of the absence of this principle. 

The topic of the last section is one of no small impor¬ 
tance. The section, it will be noticed, consists chiefly of 
a statement of facts, without any attempt at explanations. 
As some persons may not at first readily perceive how it 
happens that the suspension or obliteration of the princi¬ 
ple of love to God is necessarily or naturally attended 
with the evil results there ascribed to it, we will delay 
upon the subject a little longer. It is sometimes the case, 
that a mere additional illustration, placing the subject in 
a new light, will have the effect upon the mind of the 
inquirer of an argument or proof. If the suspension or 
obliteration of any other principle will be followed by 
results analogous to those which have been described as 
accessory to the extinction of love to God, we shall clearly 
have, in this circumstance, an evidence that the results in 
the last case have been correctly indicated. And, on the 
other hand, if the extinction or utter inaction of subordi¬ 
nate principles be not attended with irregularity and per¬ 
version in other parts of the mind, it will furnish a strong 
Ll2 




402 


THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


presumption that the extinction or utter inaction of the 
higher principles will, in its collateral results, be equally 
harmless. By the aid of these statements we may easily 
bring the subject, in a considerable degree, to the test of 
common observation. And what is the fact ? 

We will make the supposition, that, in the case of some 
individual, the domestic affections have for some reason 
become permanently extinct, either in their nature or in 
their action. Such instances, though not by any means 
frequently, may yet sometimes be found. The person in 
whom this obliteration or utter inaction of the domestic 
affections takes place, has no attachment for his children 
or any of his family such as he used to have. It is a 
matter of common observation and remark, that a person 
in such a situation will be much more likely than another 
to fall under the dominion of the lower appetites; to ad¬ 
dict himself, for instance, to licentious practices, or to be¬ 
come a drunkard. While the domestic affections existed, 
while he looked with deep interest on his parents, his 
children, and his wife, he was furnished with powerful 
auxiliary motives to restrain his appetites. He saw dis¬ 
tinctly, if he indulged them, they would not only inter¬ 
fere with his duties to his family, but would plunge them 
into deep disgrace and sorrow. So great influence had 
this view of his situation upon his mind, that he was en¬ 
abled to sustain himself in opposition to the approaches 
of the evil habits which threatened him. But as soon as 
the domestic affections became extinct, as soon as the 
love of kindred was blasted in his bosom, he fell before 
them. 

Again, if we suppose, in addition to the extinction of 
the domestic affections, the further obliteration of love to 
his country and of love to the human race, (and still 
more if we add the extinction of the principles of pity 
and gratitude,) the probability of his falling under the 
dominion of the bodily appetites, and of degrading him¬ 
self to the condition of a brute, will be obviously increas¬ 
ed by this state of things. With the removal of these 
leading principles of human action, there is, of course, a 
removal of an important class of motives which had a 
favourable tendency. And if it were possible for him to 


LOVE TO THE SUPREME BEING. 


403 


stand against the solicitations of the appetites before, he 
will he likely to fall now. The Will, whose office it is, 
under the direction of the Conscience, to regulate and re¬ 
strain the appetites, received important assistance from 
the sources which have been alluded to; but with the re¬ 
moval of that assistance its power is proportionally di¬ 
minished, and all hope is gone. The cravings of nature 
must have food of some kind; and if it fails to be fur¬ 
nished with the ennobling aliment which is generated in 
the love of our families, our country, and mankind, it 
will inevitably fatten itself on the mire of a debasing 
sensuality.—This is the common sense view of the sub¬ 
ject ; one which will be likely to commend itself to the 
sober judgment and acceptance of all. 

It is clear that these illustrations will apply in their 
full strength to the principle of love to God. Just so 
long as this principle is predominant, it is impossible, as 
has been before stated, for the inferior principles to be¬ 
come excessive and morally evil in their action. We 
feel, under the influence of this exalting affection, that 
we cannot so much dishonour our Maker; we cannot es¬ 
timate so lightly those claims of gratitude which He has 
upon us; we cannot so basely contemn our infinite obli¬ 
gations to his wisdom and benevolence, as to indulge for 
a moment any exercise of the passions which he has for¬ 
bidden. They stand rebuked and withering in the pres¬ 
ence of the object that has the dominion in our hearts. 
But only obliterate the principle of Love to God; and 
at once a thousand motives, which enabled us to keep 
them in their proper place, are lost in the extinction of 
the principle on which they rested; and other principles, 
infinitely below it, at once gain the ascendency. 


404 


HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 


CHAPTER VIII. . r 

HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 

$ 382. Meaning of the term habit. 

We propose to bring the subject of this department of 
the Sensibilities to a conclusion by some slight references 
to the results of the law of Habit, considered in connex¬ 
ion with this portion of our nature. As we have already 
had occasion to make some remarks upon the general na¬ 
ture of Habit, and have seen in repeated instances its 
bearing upon mental action, it will not be necessary to 
spend much time upon that subject here. The term 
Habit, in its application to the various mental powers, 
expresses the simple fact, that the mental action acquires 
facility and strength by repetition or practice . 

$ 383. Of habits in connexion with the appetites. 

In considering the results of Habit, in connexion with 
that portion of the Natural or Pathematic Sensibilities 
which involves desire, viz., the Instincts, Appetites, Pro¬ 
pensities, and Affections, we shall adhere to the arrange¬ 
ment which has hitherto been followed, with the excep¬ 
tion of the Instincts, to which the law of Habit does not 
apply.—We proceed to remark, therefore, that there may 
be appetitive habits; in other words, that the Appetites, 
the class of sensitive principles next in order to the In¬ 
stincts, acquire strength from repeated indulgence. The 
appetites in their first or original operation act instinctive¬ 
ly; but it is incidental to their nature, as it is-to all the 
modifications of Desire, that their gratification is attended 
with more or less of pleasure. In connexion with this ex¬ 
perience of pleasure, we frequently stimulate them to ac¬ 
tion a second time, under circumstances when there would 
be but little, and perhaps no occasion, for a purely instinct¬ 
ive exercise. But the desire, as it is thus, by a voluntary 
effort, or, at least, by a voluntary permission, indulged 
again and again, rapidly becomes more and more intense, 



HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 


405 


till at last it is found to acquire a complete ascendency. 
That such is the process appears to be proved by what 
unfortunately we have so frequent occasion to notice in 
those who are in the practice of taking intoxicating drinks. 
If they had indulged their appetite only a few times, they 
would undoubtedly have retained their mastery over it. 
But as this indulgence has been repeated often, and con¬ 
tinued for a considerable length of time, the appetite 
growing stronger with each repetition, has gradually ac¬ 
quired the predominance, till it has brought the whole 
man, as it were, into captivity.—(See § 49.) 

§ 390. Of habit3 in connexion with the propensities. 

The Propensities, as well as the Appetites, are subject 
to the influence of this law; in other words, there may 
be propensive as well as appetitive habits. The princi¬ 
ple of Sociality, for instance, has an instinctive action; 
but there is no question that we have the power, as it is 
undoubtedly our duty, to subject it to suitable regulation. 
But if, instead of doing this, we indulge it continually 
for the mere sake of the pleasure we experience, without 
regard to the other claims existing upon us, we shall find 
it rapidly acquiring undue strength, and every day will 
render it more difficult to regulate it properly. And, in 
point of fact, it is sometimes the case, that we find per¬ 
sons who, in consequence of an unrestricted indulgence 
of a principle otherwise naturally good, have brought 
themselves into such a situation, that retirement, which 
every reasonable man ought sometimes to desire, is al¬ 
ways exceedingly irksome to them. 

Perhaps not one of the Propensities can be named 
which may not be greatly strengthened in the same way. 
It is well known in what countless instances the desire of 
Possession, growing stronger by continued repetition, be¬ 
comes an ascendant and controlling principle. We are 
not to suppose that the intense love which the miser has 
for his possessions, existed in him naturally and originally. 
We do, indeed, admit that the seed or element of it, the 
basis on which it rests, existed in him naturally, as it ex¬ 
ists in all men. But how does it happen that it shows 
itself in this exaggerated and intense form ? This is the 


406 


HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 


work of the man himself, and for which the man himself 
is accountable, rather than the original tendencies of his 
nature. From morning till night, from day to day, and 
from year to year, the Possessory principle has been vol¬ 
untarily kept in intense exercise. And the natural and 
necessary result has been, that it has become the ruling 
sentiment of the heart. 

So of the desire of Power. In itself considered, power 
may properly be regarded as one of the various forms of 
natural .good. And accordingly we are at liberty to take 
the ground, as was formerly seen in the remarks on that 
subject, that the desire of power, if duly subordinated, is 
not. reprehensible. But in a multitude of instances, this 
desire is far from showing itself in the aspect of a subordi¬ 
nate principle. And the reason is, that it has acquired 
inordinate strength by repetition; a habit of mind has 
Been formed, which has resulted in its becoming predomi¬ 
nant. The individual, in whom it exists in this intense 
form, is not satisfied with anything short of the prostra¬ 
tion of every other person at his own feet. It would 
hardly be going too far to say, that he looks upon the Su¬ 
preme Being, when he contemplates his greatness and el¬ 
evation, in the light of a rival and an enemy. 

$ 385. Of habits in connexion with the affections. 

Remarks similar to what have been made in respect 
to the lower active or motive principles, will apply, in 
like manner, to the higher class of the Affections. We 
sometimes see, for instance, decided indications of the 
result of Habit in the progress of the Malevolent Affec¬ 
tions. A man entertains a degree of dislike to his neigh¬ 
bour ; it appears perhaps at first in the form of a mere 
unpleasant suspicion; these suspicious and unpleasant 
feelings are frequently indulged; we see them gradually 
growing deeper and deeper, assuming under the influence 
of Habit a more fixed and determinate form, and ulti¬ 
mately appearing in the shape of malignant and perma¬ 
nent hatred. 

The law of Habit applies, in the same manner, to the 
Benevolent affections. The parental affection is strong 
and decided in the very beginning of its existence. But 


HABITS of the sensibilities. 


407 


the dependent situation of the beloved object on which 
it fastens, keeps it almost constantly in exercise. And 
thus, unless there are some improprieties in the conduct 
of the child, which check and diminish the results natu¬ 
rally following under such circumstances, it rapidly ac¬ 
quires immense strength. And hence it may be explain¬ 
ed in part, that when a son or daughter, in the maturity 
of youth or on the verge of womanhood, is taken away 
by death, the grief of the parent, always great at such 
times, is more intense and excessive than when death 
takes place in infancy. The death of the child at the la¬ 
ter period of life not only blasts a greater number of 
hopes, but as love, by a long-repeated, cumulative pro¬ 
cess, has been added and incorporated with love, it carries 
away, if one may be allowed the expression, a greater 
portion of the heart. 

We may unquestionably apply these views to all those 
affections which are properly characterized as Benevo¬ 
lent, to Friendship, Patriotism, Gratitude, and Sympathy. 
He who is so situated that he is required to think much 
on the interests and good of his country, and whose love 
of country is in this way kept constantly in exercise, 
will be found, other things being equal, to exhibit in the 
day of trial a more intense ardour of patriotism than oth¬ 
ers. He who, by his untiring attentions to the poor, the 
sick, and the prisoner, has kept his sympathetic affections 
in action for a long series of years, will find the principle 
of sjunpathy more thoroughly consubstantial in his nature, 
and more intensely operative, than if it had lain dormant. 
And we may add, that this doctrine, in all its extent, is 
applicable to the highest of all the Benevolent affections, 
that of love to God. This ennobling principle, this pre¬ 
eminent trait, which allies us not only to just men made 
perfect, but to angels, is an improvable one. Under the 
influence of Habit, we find it, even in the present life, going 
on from one degree of brightness and strength to another. 
The more we think of God, the more frequently we con¬ 
nect him with all our ordinary transactions, the more will 
the broad orb of his glory expand itself to our concep¬ 
tions, and call forth the homage and love of the heart. 




408 


HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 


$ 386. Of the origin of secondary active principles. 

It is here, in connexion with the views of this Chap¬ 
ter, that we find an explanation of the origin of what are 
called secondary principles of action. Some individu¬ 
als, for instance, are seen to possess a decided passion for 
dress, furniture, and equipage. We are not to suppose 
that this passion is one which is originally implanted in the 
human mind, although it may be so permanent and so de¬ 
cided in its action as to have something of that appearance. 
The probability is, setting aside whatever may be truly 
interesting or beautiful in the objects, that they are chiefly 
sought after, not so much for what they are in themselves, 
as for some form of good, particularly some esteem and 
honour, to which they are supposed to be introductory and 
auxiliary. But the desire, existing in the first instance in 
reference to some supposed beneficial end, has been so 
long exercised, that we at last, in virtue of what may 
properly be called a Habit, so closely associate the means 
and the end, that it is exceedingly difficult to separate 
them. So that, after a time, we apparently have a real 
love or affection for the means itself, (the dress, furniture, 
equipage, or whatever it is,) independently, in a great de¬ 
gree, of the ultimate object, in connexion with which it 
first excited an interest in us. 

There are some men, to illustrate the subject still further, 
who appear to have a strong love for money; we do not 
mean property in the more general sense of the term, but 
money, the gold and the silver coin in itself considered, 
the mere naked issue of the mint. This is one of the va¬ 
rious forms which the too common vice of Avarice some¬ 
times assumes. But we cannot suppose that the love of 
money, in this sense of the terms, is a passion connatural 
to the human mind, and that men are born with it. It 
is loved, in the first instance, simply as a means, subordi¬ 
nate to some supposed beneficial end. The person has 
looked upon it for years as the means of enjoyment, influ¬ 
ence, and honour; in this way he has formed a Habit of 
associating the means and the end; and they have be¬ 
come so closely connected in his thoughts, that, in ordi¬ 
nary cases, he finds himself unable to separate them. 

Again, we are not to suppose that men are born with 


HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 


409 


a natural desire for the society of mice and spiders, such 
as we have reason to think they naturally entertain for 
that of their fellow-men. But in the entire exclusion of 
all human beings, we find the principle of sociality, de¬ 
prived of its legitimate and customary sources of gratifi¬ 
cation, fastening itself upon these humble companions. 
A man, as in the case of Baron Trenck and Count Lau- 
zun, may form an acquaintance with these animals, which, 
aided by the principle of Habit, will, after a time, exhib¬ 
it a distinctness and intensity, which are commonly char¬ 
acteristic only of the original passions.—In this way there 
may unquestionably be formed a series of secondary ap¬ 
petites, propensities, and affections, almost without num¬ 
ber. And we have here opened to us a new and inter¬ 
esting view of human nature, capable of being so applied 
as to explain many things in the history and conduct of 
men, which, however, we are not at liberty in this con-* 
nexion to explore more minutely. 

M M 











THE SENSIBILITIES. 


PART SECOND. 

THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES OR CONSCIENCE. 

MORAL OR CONSCIENTIOUS STATES OF THE MIND. 


MORAL SENTIMENTS. 








■ 





. 











CHAPTER I. 


EMOTIONS OF MORAL APPROVAL AND DISAPPROVAL. 

§ 387. Reference to the general division. 

In entering upon the examination of the interesting* and 
important department of the mental nature, which now 
presents itself to our notice, it is proper to revert a mo¬ 
ment to that general division of the mind which we have 
endeavoured throughout to adhere to as the basis of our 
inquiries. The general classification, it will be recollect¬ 
ed, was into the Intellect, the Sensibilities, and the Will. 
In passing from the purely intellectual region to that of 
the Sensibilities, we first find ourselves in the subordinate 
department of the Emotions. And, leaving the emotions, 
we may advance onward, and come in contact with the 
still more interior and remote department of the Will, ei¬ 
ther by passing through the region of the Desires on the 
one hand, or through the space occupied, if we may be 
allowed to use such expressions in connexion with the 
mind, by the feelings of Moral Obligation on the other. 
In accordance with this plan, we made it our first object 
to examine some of the leading emotions which come 
under the head of the Natural or Pathematic Sensibilities. 
And then, taking the direction of the Desires, endeavour¬ 
ed, in a variety of remarks on the Instincts, Appetites, 
Propensities, and Affections, to explain what may prop¬ 
erly be included under that head. 

Having completed, in such manner as we are able, 
that part of the subject, we propose to return again to the 
region of the Emotions, a part of which are included un¬ 
der the general head of the Moral Sensibilities, and to 
approach the Will in the opposite direction. In carrying 
this plan into effect, and in giving a philosophical account 
of the Moral in distinction from the Natural or Pathematic 
Sensibilities, we shall not delay to consider the general 
question, whether man has a moral nature or not. We 
take it for granted that he has. The well-known passage 
Mm2 





414 EMOTIONS OF MORAL APPROVAL AND DISAPPROVAL. 

of the Apostle, not to mention other considerations, seems 
to be decisive on this point. “ For when the Gentiles, 
which have not the law, do by nature the things contained 
in the law, these, having not the law , are a law unto them¬ 
selves ; which show the work of the law written in their 
hearts, their Conscience also bearing witness, and their 
thoughts the mean while accusing, or else excusing one an¬ 
other” 

$ 388. Classification of the moral sensibilities. 

The Moral nature is less complicated than the Pathe- 
matic, although the general division of the Moral Sensi¬ 
bilities corresponds precisely to the general division of the 
Natural or Pathematic Sensibilities. As the Natural Sen¬ 
sibilities resolved themselves, in the first instance, into the 
subordinate classification of the Emotions and Desires, so 
the Moral Sensibilities, in a manner precisely correspond¬ 
ing, resolve themselves into the subordinate classification 
of moral Emotions and feelings of Moral Obligation. But 
both divisions of the Natural Sensibilities, it will be rec¬ 
ollected, viz., the Emotive and the Desirous, were found 
to be susceptible of numerous minor divisions. It is not 
so in the moral department. The class of moral emotions, 
and the obligatory feeling or feelings of moral obligation, 
which are based upon them, will be found, exclusive of 
any subordinate divisions, to comprehend the whole sub¬ 
ject. 

It might be supposed, therefore, that this subject would 
be despatched in a few words. And so it would, if the 
discussion could properly be limited to the mere exami¬ 
nation of these feelings. But the moral sentiments, both 
the emotive and the obligatory, sustain such important 
relations, and involve so many important consequences, 
that it seems to be proper, not only to examine them in 
their own nature, but also to consider them, to some ex¬ 
tent, in their multiplied connexions. 

$ 389. Nature of the moral emotions of approval and disapproval. 

In accordance with what has been said in the foregoing 
section, we repeat that there are but two classes of men¬ 
tal states which belong, in strictness of speech, to the 




EMOTIONS OF MORAL APPROVAL AND DISAPPROVAL. 415 

: Moral sensibilities, considered as being by nature an es¬ 
sential portion of the human mind; although it is very 
true that there are a number of things in the mind, such 
! as the abstract conceptions of right and wrong, and the 
i feelings of remorse, which have, both theoretically and 
j practically, an important connexion with morals. The 
! Moral Nature, properly so called, putting out of view T the 
incidental relations it sustains, exists and developes itself, 
first, in the moral Emotions, viz., of approval and disap¬ 
proval ; and, second, in the feelings of moral Obligation. 

While there are many kinds of the Natural or Pathe- 
matic emotions, such as the emotions of beauty, of sub¬ 
limity, of the ludicrous, of cheerfulness, of surprise, of 
reverence, of shame, and the like, there is but one kind 
or class of Moral emotions. And these are known, con¬ 
sidered as distinct states of mind, by the names by which 
they have just been described, viz., as feelings of approval 
and disapproval. Of these states of mind we now pro¬ 
ceed to give some account.—And our first remark is, that 
they are original feelings; which implies that, in the ap¬ 
propriate circumstances of their existence, they are called 
forth by the original or constitutional tendencies of the 
mind, and also that they are elementary or simple. Of 
course they are not susceptible of definition, since defi¬ 
ning, except that sort of apparent defining which consists 
in the mere use of synonymous terms, is predicable only 
of what is complex. Hence, in their distinctive or ap¬ 
propriate nature, in that which constitutes them what they 
are, considered as separate from anything and everything 
; else, they cannot be known by description, but by con¬ 
sciousness only. Nevertheless, we are not at liberty to 
suppose that their nature is either absolutely unknown, 
or, as a general thing, even misunderstood; inasmuch as 
i the consciousness of such feelings is universal, and as no 
form of knowledge, it is generally admitted, is more dis¬ 
tinct to our apprehension than that which has conscious¬ 
ness for its basis. Whoever, therefore, has had placed 
before him any case of right and wrong of such a nature 
that he could have, and did in fact have, a clear appre¬ 
hension of it, in itself and in its relations, must, we sup¬ 
pose, have a knowledge (and if he has not, it is impossi- 



416 EMOTIONS OF MORAL APPROVAL AND DISAPPROVAL. 


ble he ever should have) of emotions of approval and 
disapproval. 

$ 390. Of the place or position, mentally considered, of the emotions of 
approval or disapproval. 

Moral emotions, or emotions of moral approval and 
disapproval, occupy a place, considered in reference to 
other departments of the mind, immediately successive to 
intellections or acts of the intellect.—In this respect they 
agree with the natural or pathematic emotions, which oc¬ 
cupy the same position. It is, for instance, impossible for 
us to feel the beauty of an object, which is an act of the 
Natural sensibilities, without first having a perception or 
knowledge of the object itself. In like manner, it is im¬ 
possible for us to approve or disapprove a thing, in the 
moral sense of the terms, without first having some per¬ 
ception, some knowledge of the thing approved or disap¬ 
proved. 

And as the natural emotions are immediately followed 
by Desires; so the moral emotions, viz., of approval and 
disapproval, (for these are all the states of mind that are 
properly comprehended under that phrase,) are followed, 
in like manner, by Obligatory feelings, or feelings of 
moral obligation. The position, therefore, of moral emo¬ 
tions, and they are found nowhere else, is between per¬ 
ceptions or intellective acts on the one hand, and Oblig¬ 
atory sentiments on the other. And as there can be no 
moral emotions without antecedent perceptions, so there 
can be no feelings of moral obligation without antecedent 
emotions of approval and disapproval. Accordingly, if 
we are said, in any given case, to be under obligation, 
either to do a thing or to abstain from doing it, we may 
always find a reason for our thus being under obligation 
in the antecedent action of the mind, viz., in our approval 
or disapproval, as the case may be, of the thing to which 
the obligation relates. 

$ 391. Changes in the moral emotions take place in accordance with 
changes in the antecedent perceptions. 

If the emotions of approval and disapproval, which are 
the basis of the subsequent feelings of moral obligation, 
are naturally founded upon antecedent perceptions, we 







EMOTIONS OF MORAL APPROVAL AND DISAPPROVAL. 417 

may expect, and such is the fact, that they will change in 
their character in accordance with changes in those per- 
, ceptions. If, for instance, a statement of facts is made to 
us, clearly establishing in our view a case of great crime, 
our emotions of disapproval are prompt and decided. But 
if it should happen that afterward some new facts are 
mingled in the statement, throwing a degree of doubt 
and perplexity upon what was believed to have taken 
place, the feelings of disapproval would at once become 
perplexed and undecided, in a degree precisely corre¬ 
sponding to the perplexity and indecision that, under the 
new circumstances, pervade the intellectual perception in 
the case. If still subsequently the introduction of other 
new facts should show that what was supposed to be a 
crime was directly the reverse, our moral emotions would 
undergo a new change, and, instead of condemning the 
transaction either more or less decidedly, would approve. 

Nor is this changeableness in the character and the 
degree of the moral emotions to be regarded as implying 
any defect in the moral nature. On the contrary, it is 
unquestionably one of the most decisive indications of its 
value. If the moral nature were so constituted as not 
only to pronounce a thing right or wrong under certain 
given circumstances, but necessarily to adhere to that de¬ 
cision under essential changes in the circumstances, it cer¬ 
tainly could not be regarded as a safe rule for men’s gui¬ 
dance. A man kills another by means of the infliction 
of a heavy blow, and, as we suppose, with evil intention 
or malice prepense, and the action is at once disapproved 
and condemned by conscience. But it subsequently ap¬ 
pears that the blow, which had the appearance at first of 
i, being intentional, was entirely a matter of accident; and 
! the conscience or moral nature immediately conforms its 
decision to the new aspect of the transaction, and annuls 
the disapproving and condemnatory sentence which it had 
before pronounced. If it were otherwise, if it did not 
promptly and fully conform itself, by changes in its own 
action, to antecedent changes in the percipient or cogni¬ 
tive action, it would confound vice and virtue, guilt and in¬ 
nocence ; and, as a rule of moral conduct, would not only 
be without value, but absolutely and exceedingly injurious. 





418 EMOTIONS OF MORAL APPROVAL AND DISAPPROVAL. 

§ 392. Of objects of moral approval and disapproval. 

We are not to suppose that the sphere of that moral 
adjudication, which is involved in the existence of emo¬ 
tions of moral approval and disapproval, extends to all ob¬ 
jects indiscriminately. It is a proper inquiry, therefore, 
and in some respects an important inquiry, what are the 
appropriate objects of approving and disapproving emo¬ 
tions.—In answer to this question, we remark in the 
first place that such objects are voluntary agents. The 
feelings in question, in their announcements of the right 
and the wrong of any case that comes before them, 
have nothing to do with things without life. And more 
than this, they require, as the objects of their exercise, 
something more than mere vegetable and animal life, viz., 
intellective, sensitive, and volitive life. In other words, 
they require, in the appropriate objects of their adjudica¬ 
tion those attributes of perceiving, feeling, and willing, 
which are necessarily implied in voluntary agency. 

(II.) In the second place, the legitimate objects of ap¬ 
proval and disapproval are not only voluntary agents, but 
moral agents. No being is the object of moral emotions, 
(that is to say, no being can by possibility be approved 
or disapproved in the moral sense of the terms,) except 
such as have a conscience or moral nature. It is impos¬ 
sible that any others should have a knowledge of right 
and wrong ; and, of course, impossible that they should 
conform themselves to the rule of right. Hence no one 
regards brute animals as the proper objects of these emo¬ 
tions. 

(III.) Again, moral agents (this expression, of course, 
implies that they are also voluntary agents) are moral¬ 
ly accountable; in other words, are the proper objects 
of moral approval and disapproval, in respect to those 
things only which are truly in their power. This re¬ 
mark, which limits the sphere of moral approval and 
disapproval not only to moral agents, but to what is ac¬ 
tually in the 'power of moral agents, is practically an im¬ 
portant one. So far as we can regulate our outward 
actions, we are accountable; that is to say, we are the 
proper objects of the emotions of moral approval and 
disapproval. So far as we can regulate the action of the 


RELATION OF REASONING TO THE MORAL NATURE. 419 

intellect, the sensibilities, and the will, we are accounta¬ 
ble also. So far as the action, whether physical or men¬ 
tal, is either involuntary or instinctive, it is not an appro¬ 
priate object of the notice and adjudication of conscience ; 
for all such action, although it belongs to, and is not sep¬ 
arable from, the agent, is nevertheless not under his con¬ 
trol.—Accordingly, when the moral agent, in the exer¬ 
cise of all his various powers, does what he ought to do, 
he stands approved. When, in the exercise of the same 
powers, he fails to do what he ought to do, he stands 
condemned. The extent of his capability is the basis of 
his duty; and the law of conscience is the measure of its 
fulfilment. And this simple statement intimates both the 
rule by which he is judged, and the vast amount of his 
responsibility. 


CHAPTER II. 

RELATION OF REASONING TO THE MORAL NATURE. 

$ 393. Of the doctrine which confounds reasoning and conscience. 

We are now prepared, in view of what has been said 
in the last Chapter, particularly in connexion with the 
subject of the grounds or principles on which changes 
take place in moral emotions, to proceed to another sub¬ 
ject not more interesting than it is practically important. 
—The opinion has sometimes been advanced, that those 
moral decisions or judgments, which, as moral beings, we 
are capable of forming, are the direct results of reasoning. 
The advocates of this doctrine, rejecting the idea of a 
distinct moral principle or conscience, appear to regard 
the reasoning power as entirely adequate to the causation 
of all those results in the mind which have a moral as¬ 
pect. In a word, they may be regarded either as deny¬ 
ing entirely the existence of conscience, or, what is phil¬ 
osophically, if not practically, the same thing, as identify¬ 
ing it with mere ratiocination. 

It is not surprising, on the whole, that this mistake, 





420 RELATION OF REASONING TO THE MORAL NATURE. 

which is certainly a very serious and prejudicial one, 
should have been committed, when we consider how 
close the relation is which reason sustains to conscience. 
It will be noticed that we speak without any hesitation 
of the doctrine referred to as a mistaken one. We do 
not suppose it to be necessary, after what has already 
been said, to attempt to show that reasoning and con¬ 
science are not identical, and that the moral nature has a 
distinct and substantive existence. Nevertheless, we free¬ 
ly admit the intimate and important relation which they i 
sustain to each other. A relation so important, in a prac¬ 
tical as well as in a philosophical point of view, that we 
shall delay here for the purpose of entering into some 
explanations of it. 

§ 394. Of the close connexion between conscience and reasoning. 

Reasoning, it will be recollected, is purely an intellect- 
ual process; consisting of successive propositions arran¬ 
ged together, and a succession of relative suggestions or 
perceptions, but, in itself considered, involving nothing 
which is properly called an emotion or desire. This sin¬ 
gle circumstance separates the reasoning power entirely 
from the moral nature; which, in its appropriate action, 
never originates, like the reasoning power, perceptions or 
new intellectual views, but merely moral emotions and 
feelings of moral obligation. Probably every one can 
say with confidence that he is conscious of a difference' 
in the moral emotions of approval and disapproval, and 
the mere intellectual perceptions of agreement and disa¬ 
greement, which are characteristic of reasoning. In the' 
view of consciousness, there can be no doubt that they 
are regarded as entirely diverse in their nature, and as 
utterly incapable of being interchanged or identified with 
each other. The moral feeling is one thing; and the in¬ 
tellectual perception or suggestion, involved both in the j 
process and the result of reasoning, is another. 

Although the reasoning power and the conscience or 
moral being are thus distinct from each other in their 
nature, they are closely connected in their relations, as 
has been intimated already; inasmuch as the intellect, 
particularly the ratiocinative or deductive part of it, is the 






RELATION OF REASONING TO THE MORAL NATURE. 421 

foundation or basis of moral action. We must first know 
a thing; it must first be an object of perception before 
we can take any moral cognizance of it. And this is not 
all. The moral cognizance, as we have already had oc¬ 
casion to explain, will conform itself with great precision 
to the intellectual cognizance. That is to say, it will 
take new ground in its decisions, in conformity with new 
facts perceived. Consequently, we cannot rely perfectly 
on a moral decision which is founded upon a premature 
or imperfect knowledge. The more carefully and judi¬ 
ciously we reason upon a subject, the more thoroughly we 
imderstand it in itself and its relations, the more confident¬ 
ly may we receive the estimate which the voice of con¬ 
science makes of its moral character. 

§ 395. Illustration of the preceding section. 

The views of the preceding section may be easily il¬ 
lustrated. When, for instance, one man is alleged to 
have stolen the property of another, we find the con¬ 
science, as a general thing, ready to discharge the duty 
which the Author of our nature has assigned to it; but it 
is sometimes the case, that its decisions are arrested and 
postponed, in order to give time for the inquiries and con¬ 
clusions of the reasoning power. Such inquiries inform 
us, perhaps, that the theft was long and coolly premedi¬ 
tated ; and was committed, not only without any special 
temptation to it, but with a full knowledge of the aggra¬ 
vation of the crime. In view of this state of things, con¬ 
science immediately passes its decision. Perhaps our in¬ 
quiries inform us, that the theft was committed at a time 
of extreme want and consequent great temptation; and, 
furthermore, was committed upon a species of property, 
in respect to which the right of individual possession is 
regarded by common consent as less strict and exclusive 
than in other cases. The conscience here, as in the 
former instance, condemns the criminal, but probably with 
a mitigated sentence. On further inquiry we learn, that 
although the property was taken, and that, too, much to 
the damage of the owner, it was taken wholly by mis¬ 
take; it was a thing entirely accidental. In this case 
conscience, adapting itself to the newly-discovered cir- 


422 RELATION OF REASONING TO THE MORAL NATURE. 

cumstances, pronounces the supposed thief altogether 
guiltless. 

The conscience, therefore, however distinct the two may 
be in themselves, is aided and supported by the various 
powers of perception and comparison, particularly by the 
reason. The reasoning power, however high the rank 
which we justly ascribe to it, sustains, in this case at least, 
a subordinate position; and is to be regarded as the ser¬ 
vitor and handmaid of the moral power. And, more¬ 
over, the latter will vary in exact accordance, if there are 
no collateral disturbing influences, with the new facts and 
the new relations, which are from time to time presented 
by the former.—It is in consequence of this close con¬ 
nexion, and the important assistance rendered to con¬ 
science by reason, that they have sometimes been con¬ 
founded together. But it is very essential to right views 
of the mind that this erroneous notion should be correct¬ 
ed, and that the precise relation, existing between these 
two distinct parts of our mental nature, should be fully 
understood. 

$ 396. Of the training or education of the conscience. 

We infer, from what has been said in this chapter, that 
there is such a thing, philosophically considered, as a 
training or education of the conscience. We propose to 
remark more fully on the subject of moral education in 
another place; but we may properly refer to it a moment 
here, m connexion with the views "which have now been 
taken. No man is at liberty to say, in regard to any 
given case, that I am willing to refer this case to con¬ 
science, and to abide by the decisions of conscience, 
without first taking the pains to lay the case fully and 
fairly before the power that is to sit in judgment upon it. 
We might as well expect the judge in a court of civil 
justice to give an upright decision without facts, without 
evidence, and without law, as to expect a correct deci¬ 
sion from the spiritual judge, that exercises authority in 
the judgment-seat of the Sensibilities, without a full and 
fair presentment of the facts by the Intellect. And when 
we say it is necessary to make a full statement of the 
facts, we may add further, that they are to be stated not 


RELATION OF REASONING TO THE MORAL NATURE. 423 

only in themselves, hut also in their relations and bear¬ 
ings upon each other.—This is one form of moral train¬ 
ing or moral education. In other words, in order to have 
a right conscience in respect to the vast multitude of 
things, which are the proper subjects of moral adjudica¬ 
tion, it is necessary to extend the field of our knowledge; 
to know much, to think much, to compare much. 

$ 397. Of guilt, when a person acts conscientiously. 

The question has sometimes been started, Whether a 
person is in any case to be considered as guilty, and to 
be punished for actions done conscientiously ; for instance, 
when certain ignorant Savages are supposed to act con¬ 
scientiously in leaving their aged and infirm parents to 
perish. In view of what has been said in this Chapter, 
we seem to be prepared to answer this question in the af¬ 
firmative. 

We have seen that the moral nature, in consequence 
of its intimate connexion with the powers of perception 
and reasoning, is in some measure under our own control. 
On the one hand, it may be enlightened and guided ; on 
the other, darkened and led astray, and in some cases be 
made to approve of actions of the most unworthy and 
sinful kind. Men, therefore, are to have a right con¬ 
science; this great and exalting principle is to receive, 
and ought to receive, the very first attention; and they 
are accountable whenever it is neglected. Otherwise we 
furnish a very easy and convenient excuse for all the cruel¬ 
ties of the Inquisition, for all the persecutions of the Prot¬ 
estants by the Catholics, for all the persecutions of the 
Protestants by each other, for all the acts of unkindness 
and tyranny which have ever been exercised upon indi¬ 
viduals and communities. 

And the position, that men are accountable and guilty 
for having a wrong conscience in proportion to their 
means of knowledge and their ability of rectifying the 
conscience, holds good in respect to the most ignorant and 
degraded Savage tribes, as well as in respect to civilized 
nations. It is true, no individual ought to assume the 
province of judging in all cases what that degree of 
guilt is; for no one is competent to it. All that is meant 


424 


FEELINGS OF MORAL OBLIGATION. 


to be asserted is, that when persons feel an emotion of 
approval in doing wrong, (that is, in doing what is con¬ 
demned by the general moral sentiments of mankind, 
and by the will and law of God.) and yet have within 
their reach neglected sources of knowledge, which, on 
being laid open to the mind, would have caused different 
feelings, they are criminal for such neglect of the infor¬ 
mation before them, and consequently cannot, under such 
circumstances, be rendered otherwise than criminal by 
any internal approbation. 


CHAPTER III. 

FEELINGS OF MORAL OBLIGATION. 

$ 398. Feelings of moral obligation distinct from feelings of moral ap¬ 
proval and disapproval. 

It has been remarked in a former chapter, that the 
Moial Sensibilities, or Conscience, will be found, on an 
examination of its elements, to resolve itself into two 
classes of feelings, viz., Moral Emotions, and Obligatory 
feelings or feelings of Moral Obligation. Having given 
some account of Moral Emotions, viz., the feelings of 
moral approval and disapproval, which are all the states 
ot mind that properly come under that head, we are now 
prepared to proceed to the consideration of the second 
class, viz., Obligatory feelings. 

It is proper to remark here, that this class of mental 
states considered as a separate and distinct class, has re¬ 
ceived but little notice in philosophical systems : having 
generally been confounded, under the familiar designa¬ 
tions of conscience and the moral sense, with the moral 
emotions which have already been considered. On this 
account, therefore, and also for the reason that they have 
an important connexion with the actual operations and 
with the philosophy of the Will, it will be necessary to 
examine them with some degree of care. 

$ 399. Proof of the existence of obligatory feelings from consciousness. 

Our first inquiry relates to the actual and distinct ex- 



FEELINGS OF MORAL OBLIGATION. 


425 


istence of the states of mind which now come under con¬ 
sideration. The existence of feelings of this description 
is evinced, in the first place, by our own consciousness. 
We might safely appeal to the internal conviction and 
the recollections of any man whatever, and ask whether 
there have not been periods in the course of his life in 
which he has experienced a new and authoritative state 
of mind; a peculiar, but undefinable species of mental 
enforcement, which required him to perform some partic¬ 
ular act, and to avoid doing some other act, even when 
his interests and his desires seemed to be averse to the 
requisitions thus made upon him 1 And if so, we have 
here an instance of moral obligation, a feeling or senti¬ 
ment of duty, the precise thing which is meant when we 
say we ought to do or ought not to do. 

Take a common and simple illustration. A person, in 
passing along the streets, saw an old man sitting by the 
wayside who bore about him the most convincing marks 
of want, wretchedness, and sincerity in his applications 
for relief; he gave him bread, clothing, and money, con¬ 
scious that it was done, not in view of any personal inter¬ 
est or gratification, or of any selfish object whatever, but 
under the impulse and guidance of a peculiar enforcement 
within, such as we commonly have when we speak of 
doing our duty; and if so, he then and there had a dis¬ 
tinct knowledge of the moral sentiment or feeling under 
consideration. And this knowledge was from Conscious¬ 
ness. 


$ 400. Further proof from the conduct of men. 

The existence of feelings of obligation is further shown 
by the general conduct of men.—It cannot be denied that 
other motives, distinct from convictions of duty, often op¬ 
erate upon them. Their desires, hopes, fears, sympathies, 
their present and future interests, all have an effect. But 
it would certainly argue an evil opinion of human nature 
altogether unwarranted, to maintain that they are never 
governed by motives of a more exalted kind. In a mul¬ 
titude of cases they are found to perform what is incum¬ 
bent upon them in opposition to their fears, in opposition 
to their sympathies, and their apparent interests. Differ- 
Nn2 


426 


FEELINGS OF MORAL OBLIGATION. 


ent persons will undoubtedly estimate the amount of in¬ 
terested and selfish motives as greater or less, according 
as a greater or less portion of the good or evil of human 
nature has come within their own cognizance; but it is 
impossible, after a cautious and candid review of the prin¬ 
ciples of human action, to exclude entirely the elements 
of uprightness and honour. If there is any truth in his¬ 
tory, there have always been found, even in the most cor¬ 
rupt periods of society, upright and honourable men. And 
if we are at liberty to infer men’s character from their 
actions, as assuredly we are, we may assert with confi¬ 
dence that there are such at the present time. But a man 
of true uprightness and honour is one who acts from the 
sentiment of duty, the feeling of moral obligation, in dis¬ 
tinction from motives of an inferior kind. 

§ 401. Further proof from language and literature. 

The existence of obligatory feelings is further proved, 
not only by each one’s consciousness, and by the conduct 
of men generally, but by language and literature. In 
most languages, and probably in all, there are terms ex¬ 
pressive of obligation or a sentiment of duty. No account 
could be given of the progress of society, and of the situ¬ 
ation and conduct of individuals, without making use of 
such terms. If the words rectitude, crime, uprightness, 
virtue, merit, vice, demerit, right, wrong, ought, obliga¬ 
tion, duty, and others of like import, were struck out from 
the English tongue, (and the same might be said of other 
languages,) it would at once be found unequal to the ex- i 
pression of the phenomena which are constantly occurring 
in the affairs of men. Now, as these terms occur, it is 
rational to suppose that they intimate something, that they 
have a meaning, that they express a reality. But it does 
not appear how this can be said of them, unless we admit 
the actual existence of obligatory feelings. 

Turning our attention from single words and phrases, 
if we enter into an examination of the literature of a lan¬ 
guage, we shall come to the same result.—A great por¬ 
tion of every nation’s literature is employed in giving ex¬ 
pression and emphasis to moral principles and sentiments. 
They find a conspicuous place in the most valuable spec- 


FEELINGS OF MORAL OBLIGATION. 


427 


illations, not of professed moralists merely, but of histori¬ 
ans, poets, orators, and legislators. But their frequent 
introduction would seem to be altogether misplaced, un¬ 
suitable, and unmeaning, if there were no real and per¬ 
manent distinction between virtue and vice, between the 
sacred requisitions of duty and those of mere personal in¬ 
terest. 

§ 402. Further proof from the necessity of these feelings. 

And in connexion with the observations which have 
been brought forward, we may further ask, What would 
men be, or what would society be, without the basis of 
moral obligation 1 There must be somewhere a founda¬ 
tion of duty. It does not appear how the bond which 
unites neighbourhoods and states can be maintained, with 
any requisite degree of permanency and strength, without 
something of this kind. Annihilate this part of our con¬ 
stitution, and would not civil society be dissolved ? Would 
not violence, and wrath, and utter confusion immediately 
succeed ? The natural desire of society, the sympathies, 
and the selfish interests of our nature might do something 
by way of diminishing these evil results, but could not 
wholly prevent them. With the dislocation of the great 
controlling principles which regulate the action of the 
moral world, there would soon be an utter confusion in 
the movements of society, and all the unspeakable evils 
attendant on such a state of things. 

§ 403. Feelings of obligation simple and not susceptible of definition. 

In view of what has been said, we assert with confi¬ 
dence that feelings of moral obligation, or obligatory 
feelings, in distinction from the antecedent acts of the 
Moral Sensibility, which consist in mere approval and 
disapproval, actually have an existence. In looking into 
their nature, in distinction from the mere fact of their ex¬ 
istence, although we do not flatter ourselves with being 
able, by a mere verbal statement, to give a satisfactory 
notion of them, we would direct the attention to some 
characteristic marks. And the first observation to be 
made is, that these states of mind are simple. We can¬ 
not resolve them into parts, as we can any complex state 


428 


FEELINGS OF MORAL OBLIGATION. 


of mind/ And, as a necessary consequence of this, they 
are not susceptible of definition. Still we cannot admit 
that this simplicity, and the consequent inability to define 
them, renders men ignorant of their nature. It is true 
that the man who has never experienced the sentiment of 
obligation in his own bosom, can have no better means 
of knowing it from the descriptions of others than the 
blind man can have for understanding the nature of the 
colours of the rainbow. But such a case is hardly a sup- 
posable one; among all the tribes of men, and amid all 
the varieties of human degradation, it will probably not 
be found to exist; and we may, therefore, say with con¬ 
fidence, that every man knows what the feeling of obli¬ 
gation is, not less than he knows what the feeling of joy, 
of sorrow, and of approval is. In other words, men have 
as ready and clear an idea of it as of any other simple 
notion or feeling. 

$ 404. They are susceptible of different degrees. 

In obtaining this knowledge, however, which evidently 
cannot be secured to us by any mere process of defining, 
we must consult our consciousness. We are required to 
turn the mind inward on itself, and to scrutinize the pro¬ 
cess of interior operation on the various occasions of en¬ 
durance, trial, and action, which so often intersect the 
paths of life. The same consciousness which gives us a 
knowledge of the existence of the feeling and of its <r e n- 
eral nature, assures us, furthermore, that it exists in vari¬ 
ous degrees. This fact may be illustrated by remarks 
formerly made in reference to another state of mind. The 
word belief is the name of a simple mental state; but no 
one doubts that belief exists in different degrees, which 
we express by a number of terms, such as presumption, 
probability, high probability, and certainty. In like man¬ 
ner, the feeling of obligation may evidently exist in vari¬ 
ous degrees, and we often express this variety of degrees 
by different terms and phrases, such as moral inducement, 
slight or strong inducement, imperfect obligation, perfect 
obligation, &c. 

§ 405. Of their authoritative and enforcing nature. 

It may be remarked further in respect to obligatory 


FEELINGS OF MORAL OBLIGATION. 


429 


feelings, that they always imply action, something to he 
done. And again, they never exist except in those cases 
where not only action, but effective action, is possible, or 
is supposed to be so. We never feel under moral obliga¬ 
tion to do anything which we are convinced, at the same 
time, is beyond our power. It is within these limits the 
feeling arises; and, while we cannot define it, we are able 
to intimate, though somewhat imperfectly, another char¬ 
acteristic. What we mean will be understood by a ref¬ 
erence to the words enforcement, constraint, or compul¬ 
sion. Every one is conscious that there is something in 
the nature of feelings of moral obligation approaching to 
the character of enforcement or compulsion; yet not by 
any means in the material sense of those terms. There is 
no enforcement analogous to that which may be applied 
to the body, and which may be made irresistible. 

The apostle Paul says, Ci The love of Christ constrain - 
eth us.” What is the meaning of this 1 Merely that the 
mercy of Christ, exhibited in the salvation of men, exci¬ 
ted such a sentiment of obligation, that they found in 
themselves a great unwillingness to resist its suggestions, 
and were determined to go forth proclaiming that mercy, 
and urging all men to accept it. And it is in reference 
to this state of things we so frequently assert that we are 
bound, that we are obliged, or even that we are compell¬ 
ed to pursue a particular course in preference to another 
course; expressions which, in their original import, inti¬ 
mate the existence of a feeling which is fitted by its very 
nature strongly to control our volition. But, although 
these expressions point to this trait of the feeling, they do 
it but imperfectly and indistinctly, and consciousness alone 
can give a full understanding of it. 

y 

$ 406. Feelings of obligation differ from those of mere approval and 
disapproval. 

It is possible that the question may be started why we 
do not class these feelings with Emotions, particularly 
those of a moral kind. And recognising the propriety of 
avoiding an increase of classes where it is not obviously 
called for, we shall endeavour to say something, in addi¬ 
tion to what has already been intimated, in answer to this 




430 


FEELINGS OF MORAL OBLIGATION. 


question.—We have not classed the mental states under 
examination with Emotions, in the first place, because 
they do not appear to be of that transitory nature which 
seems to be characteristic of all emotions. Ordinarily 
they do not dart into the soul with the same rapidity, 
shining up, and then disappearing, like the sudden light¬ 
ning in the clouds; but, taking their position more slowly 
and gradually, they remain, like the sun, bright and per¬ 
manent. In the course of an hour a person may experi¬ 
ence hundreds, and even thousands, of emotions of joy or 
grief, of beauty or sublimity, and various other kinds. 
They come and go, return and depart again, in constant 
succession and with very frequent changes; but it prob¬ 
ably will not be pretended that the feelings of duty, which 
are destined to govern man’s conduct, and which consti¬ 
tute his most important principles of action, are of such a 
rapid, variant, and evanescent nature. A man feels the 
sentiment of duty now, and it is reasonable to anticipate, 
unless the facts presented to his mind shall essentially al¬ 
ter, that he will feel the same to-morrow, next week, 
next month, and next year. He may as well think of 
altering and alienating the nature of the soul itself, as of 
eradicating these feelings when they have once taken 
root, so long as the objects to which they relate remain 
the same in the mind’s view. 

$ 407. Feelings of obligation have particular reference to the future. 

A second reason for not classing feelings of obligation 
with emotions, particularly moral ones, is the fact that 
obligatory sentiments have special reference to the future. 
Moral emotions are of a peculiar kind; they have a char¬ 
acter of their own, which is ascertained by consciousness; 
but they merely pronounce upon the character of objects 
and actions that are either past or present; upon the right 
or wrong of what has actually taken place in time past, 
or is taking place at the present moment; with the single 
exception of hypothetical cases, which are brought before 
the mind for a moral judgment to be passed upon them. 
But even in these cases, as far as the action of the moral 
sense is concerned, the objects of contemplation are in 
effect present. The conscience passes its judgment upon 






feelings of moral obligation. 431 

the objects in themselves considered; and that is all. It 
usi (goes no further. 

icl | But it clearly seems to be different with the feelings 
y under consideration. The states of mind involving obli- 
ny, gation and duty have reference to the future; to some- 
& thing which is either to be performed, or the performance 
dj of which is to be avoided. They bind us to what is to 
er. come. They can have no possible existence, except in 
■ i. connexion with what is to be done, either in the inward 
or feeling or the outward effort. The past is merged in eter- , 
4 nity, and no longer furnishes a place for action. Obliga- I 
a;it tion and duty cannot reach it, and it is given over to ret-,., 
i ribution. 

ick 

. $ 408. Feelings of obligation subsequent in time to the moral emotions 
of approval and disapproval. 

hj! Another and third important circumstance to be taken 
into view in making out the distinction under our notice, 

,. is, that the sentiments or feelings of obligation are always 
• subsequent in point of time to moral emotions, and can- 
: not possibly exist until preceded by them. The state- 
f ment is susceptible of illustration in this way. Some 
el complicated state of things, involving moral considera- 
,; a dons, is presented before us; we inquire and examine into 
it; emotions of approval or disapproval then arise. And 
this is all that takes place, if we ourselves have, in no 
way whatever, any direct and active concern, either pres- 
j ent or future. But if it be otherwise, the moral emotions 
. | are immediately succeeded by a distinct and imperative 
feeling; the sentiment of obligation, which binds us, as if 
it were the voice of God speaking in the soul, to act or 
, not to act, to do or not to do, to favour or to oppose. 

’ How common a thing it is for a person to say that he 
t feels no moral obligation to do a thing, because he does 
not approve it; or, on the contrary, that, approving any 
1 proposed course, he feels under obligation to pursue it; 

’ language which undoubtedly means something, and which 
implies a distinction between the mere moral emotion and 
j the feeling of obligation; and which tends to prove the 
1 prevalence of the common belief, that obligation is subse- 
' quent to, and dependent on, approval or disapproval.— 





432 


FEELINGS OF MOKAL OBLIGATION. 


On looking at the subject in these points of view, we can¬ 
not come to the conclusion to rank feelings of obligation 
with moral emotions, or with any other emotions, but are 
induced to assign them a distinct place. But it is not 
surprising, on the whole, that moral emotions are often 
confounded with them, when we consider the invariable 
connexion between the two just spoken of, and when also 
we consider the imperfection of language, which not un- 
frequently applies the same terms to both classes of men¬ 
tal states. 

$ 409. Feelings of obligation differ from desires. 

For the reasons which have now been stated, feelings 
of obligation are not classed with Emotions. We are 
next asked, perhaps, why they are not classed under the 
general head of Desires. And, in answering this ques¬ 
tion, we say in the first place, that consciousness clearly 
points out a difference. It is believed that few matters 
come within the reach and cognizance of consciousness 
which can be more readily decided upon than the differ¬ 
ence between our desires and our feelings of obligation. 
We admit that, in the particular of their fixedness or per¬ 
manency, and also of their relation to the future, the lat¬ 
ter closely approach to the characteristics of the former ; j 
and yet a little internal examination will detect a distinc- 
tion between them which is marked and lasting. 

(2.) We may not only consult our own consciousness 
in this matter, but may derive information from a notice 
of the outward conduct of men. In speaking of men’s 
conduct, we not unfrequently make a distinction; and 
we attribute it sometimes to the mere influence of their 
desires or wishes, and at other times to the predominance j 
of a sense of duty, which is only another name for a sen¬ 
timent or impulse within, which is morally obligatory. 
But there would evidently be no propriety in this distinc- j 
tion, if desire and feelings of duty were the same thing; i 
and it would certainly be premature and unjust to charge j 
men with universally making such a distinction when 
there are no grounds for it. 

§ 410. Farther considerations on this subject. 

If there is not a fixed, permanent, and radical distinc- I 





UNIFORMITY OF ACTION IN THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 433 

tion between desires and feelings of obligation, then there 
is an utter failure of any basis of morality, either in fact 
or in theory. It will readily be conceded that morality 
implies a will, a power of choice and determination. But 
the mere moral emotions, viz., of approval and disappro¬ 
val, do not of themselves reach the Will. They operate 
on the Will through the feelings of obligation; that is to 
say, they are always succeeded by the latter feelings be¬ 
fore men are led to action. All other emotions operate 
through the Desires. So that the will, in making up its 
determinations, takes immediate cognizance of only two 
classes of mental states, viz., Desires and Feelings of ob¬ 
ligation. But brute animals, as a general statement, have 
all the desires that men have; we mean all those modifi¬ 
cations of feeling which have been classed under that 
general head, viz., instincts, appetites, propensities, the 
various forms of affection, as resentment, love, the parent¬ 
al affection, &c. But still, being evidently destitute of 
all feelings of obligation, we never speak or think of them 
as possessing a moral character. We never applaud them 
for doing their duty, nor punish them for neglecting its 
performance. Our treatment of them proceeds on alto¬ 
gether different principles. And it would be the same 
with men if they were wholly destitute of feelings of moral 
obligation, and had no motives of action but the various 
forms of desire. They could never, in that case, be con¬ 
sidered morally accountable. They would be without 
reward when they went right, and without rebuke when 
they went wrong. 


CHAPTER IV. 

UNIFORMITY OF ACTION IN THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 

§417. Of uniformity in the decisions of the moral nature and the prin¬ 
ciple on which it is regulated. 

The two classes of feelings which have been consider¬ 
ed, viz., moral emotions, by means of which we approve 
and disapprove of actions, and the subsequent feelings of 
0 o 







434 


UNIFORMITY OF ACTION IN THE 


moral obligation, embrace all the states of mind which 
are properly and strictly included under the head of the 
Moral Sensibilities; although there are a number of col¬ 
lateral or incidental inquiries, some of which are worthy 
of notice. One of the most interesting of these inqui¬ 
ries relates to the Uniformity of moral decisions.—In en¬ 
tering upon the subject of the Uniformity of the decisions 
of our Moral Nature, we remark, in the first place, that 
there are two kinds of uniformity, viz., uniformity in fact 
or principle, and uniformity in manifestation or appear¬ 
ance. Uniformity in principle, which is the most impor¬ 
tant view of the subject, necessarily implies a rule or law, 
by means of which the uniformity, which is alleged to ex¬ 
ist, may be measured and known. And the rule or law 
upon which the uniformity of the moral nature is unques¬ 
tionably based, is, that its decisions (excepting those ex¬ 
tremely perverted acts which may justly be supposed to 
imply a state of moral alienation or insanity, and which 
do not properly come into consideration here) will in all 
cases conform to the facts perceived ; in other words, will 
conform to the facts and their relations, as they exist in 
the view of the intellect. 

Estimated by this law, we can hardly entertain a doubt 
that the decisions of conscience may justly be regarded 
as being, at the bottom, uniform throughout the world. 
It is not true, as some seem to suppose, that nature has 
established one code of morals for civilized and another 
for Savage nations; one law of rectitude on the banks of 
the Thames, and another on the banks of the Ganges; 
but in all parts of the world, in every nation and in eve¬ 
ry clime, on the borders of every river and on the decliv¬ 
ities of every mountain, she utters the same voice, announ¬ 
ces the same distinctions, and proclaims the unchangea¬ 
bleness of her requisitions. 

^ 412. The nature of conscience, considered as a uniform principle of 
action, requires that it should vary in its decisions with circumstances. 

It is well known, that one of the greatest and the only 
formidable objection which has been brought against the 
doctrine of a connatural Moral Sensibility or Conscience, 
is a want of uniformity in its decisions ; in other words, 


MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 


435 


that it approves at one time and in one place what it con¬ 
demns at another time and place. The remarks which 
have been made enable us to meet this objection fairly 
and satisfactorily. We admit that there is a want of that 
kind of uniformity which, by way of distinction, we have 
, denominated uniformity in manifestation or appearance ; 
but it is not true (with the exception of those extreme 
perversions which come under the denomination of mor¬ 
al insanity or alienation) that there is a want of uniform- 
| ity in fact or principle. It is the latter kind of uniformity 
only which we are desirous to witness as an attribute of 
j the conscience. A uniformity of decision, based upon 
any other view, would be disastrous to its own authority. 
In meeting the objection, therefore, which has been refer¬ 
red to, all we have to do is to show that the moral sense 
or conscience conforms to its own law; in other words, 
is uniform in its action, relatively to the facts that are 
. placed before it. 

And our first remark here is, that the nature of con¬ 
science itself involves, that it must vary in its decisions 
in accordance with a variation or change of circumstan¬ 
ces. And the important law of its own uniformity not 
. only permits this, but requires it. As its uniformity exists 
i in relation to the facts perceived, and involves the uni- 
I formity or sameness of those facts, it follows that a change 
in the facts and their relations will be attended by a 
| change in the moral cognizance. The decisions of con¬ 
science, therefore, although erected upon a basis of uni- 
‘ formity, and although, in fact, uniform in reference to the 
principle which has been laid down, are nevertheless in 
their manifestations sometimes exceedingly diverse; like 
the multiplied forms of the kaleidoscope, which, although 
they always exist in accordance with fixed optical prin¬ 
ciples, are susceptible of almost every possible variety. 
—Going on the supposition, therefore, that the gener¬ 
al uniformity of the decisions of conscience is understood 
and acknowledged, we proceed now to give some account 
of its variations. And, in doing this, shall endeavour to 
show that they all take place in entire consistency with 
I the permanent principles of its own nature; in other 
words, that the uniformity is real, and that the deviations 
are merely apparent 






436 UNIFORMITY OF ACTION IN THE 

4 413. Diversities in moral decisions dependent on differences in the' 
amount of knowledge. 

Diversities in the decisions of conscience will depend, 
in the first place, on differences in the amount of knowl¬ 
edge, whether such differences in knowledge be owing to 
differences of intellective power or to any other cause. 
In other words, the conscience may he led astray, so far 
as to decide otherwise than it would under other circum¬ 
stances, either by a want of facts, or by a false percep¬ 
tion and estimate of facts. This simple statement, if 
properly applied, can hardly fail to explain numerous 
mistaken moral judgments, which have been adduced in 
opposition to the doctrine of a conscience. 

We may illustrate this view of the subject by a case of 
this kind. Two men are required to give an opinion on 
some question which involves moral duty. The question 
we will suppose to be, whether it would be right, in a 
supposed case, to attempt a revolution in the civil govern¬ 
ment. Of these two individuals one will pronounce it to 
be right, the other will pronounce it to be wrong.—It is 
admitted that we have here a manifested or apparent de¬ 
viation in the moral action. At the same time, it is un¬ 
questionably the fact, that it is not owing to a difference 
of structure in their moral nature, but rather to a differ¬ 
ence in their perceptive and comparing powers. 

The one who pronounces the attempt to be right, in 
consequence of his greater reach of thought, is able to 
foresee, after the first convulsive struggles, the subsidence 
of the angry passions into a state of permanent quiet, and 
the reorganization of the convulsed frame of society into 
greater strength and beauty. With these views he thinks 
it right to attempt to introduce a change into the govern¬ 
ment of the country. The other, whose intellectual vision 
is more limited, unable to extend the perceptive eye into 
the future,sees only the evils of the present moment; the 
discord and clamour, the breaking up of old habits and 
associations, the agony, and the blood. With these views 
he thinks it would be wrong to attempt the change in 
question. The moral nature, in each instance, pronoun¬ 
ces according to the light which is placed before it; and 
in each case does what it would naturally be expected 
to do. r 


MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 


437 


The want of uniformity in this case, so far from being 
an evidence, as some seem to suppose, that there are no 
good grounds for the doctrine of a moral sense, is rather 
an evidence of the contrary. Although there is not an 
external or apparent uniformity, there is a uniformity in 
principle; that is to say, the conscience in each case de¬ 
cides according to the facts before it, which is the only 
proper ground Of decision. 

6 414. Of diversities in moral judgment in connexion with differences 
in civil and political institutions. 

We may reasonable expect, in the second place, to find 
diversities and occasional oppositions of moral judgment, 
in connexion with differences in civil and political insti¬ 
tutions.—This statement might be illustrated by numerous 
instances from history. The objectors to a moral nature 
maintain, that theft or the unlawfully taking of the prop¬ 
erty of another is a crime; and that conscience, if it ex¬ 
ists as a part of the mental constitution, will not fail to 
condemn it universally. And, in connexion with this, they 
bring forward the fact, that in some countries theft, in¬ 
stead of being condemned as it should be, prevails very 
much, and is scarcely regarded as a crime. 

Under this head we may properly notice, in particular, 
the statement made by travellers, that some Savage tribes 
are very much given to theft. Captain Cook informs us, 
that when he visited the Sandwich Islands in 1778, the 
inhabitants exhibited a thievish disposition, taking every¬ 
thing which came within their reach. In explanation of 
this statement, it is to be remarked, first, that the idea of 
theft involves the idea of property;■ and that the right of 
property is more or less strict and absolute in different 
countries and under different political systems. In con¬ 
sequence of the richness of their soil and the favourable 
nature of their climate, there is no question that the right 
of property was held by the Sandwich Islanders to be less 
strict and exclusive than it is found to be in less produc¬ 
tive countries. The familiar distinction of meum and 
tuum, of our own and another’s, was not so clearly drawn 
and so strenuously adhered to as it generally is in civili¬ 
zed nations; and the probability is, that nearly all the 
0 o 2 


43S 


UNIFORMITY OF ACTION IN THE 


various forms of property were held in common. As the 
right of property was in their estimation less strict, the vio¬ 
lation of it was less criminal; and they did not look upon 
the offender with that decided disapprobation which in 
other places would attach to him in taking the same arti¬ 
cles. They probably regarded him with nearly the same 
feelings with which we regard a man who, in passing 
through an orchard that belongs to us, takes a few apples, 
or who occasionally draws water from our well. He takes 
our property, it is true; but as the right of property in 
those cases is held by common consent to be a loose or 
mitigated one, we do not call it theft nor regard it as 
criminal. 

And further, in looking at Captain Cook’s account a 
little more minutely, we see evidence in the narration it¬ 
self of the correctness of this view. “ At first,” he says, 
“ on entering the ship, they endeavoured to steal every¬ 
thing they came near, or rather to take it openly, as what we 
either should not resent or not hinder .” In another place 
he says, in explanation of their conduct, “ they thought 
they had a right to everything they could lay their 
hands on.” We learn also, that, after they were made 
to understand the English notions of property, and the 
penalty attached to a violation of it, they soon laid aside 
such conduct.—It is obvious, if they had attached the 
same ideas to taking property which we attach to steal¬ 
ing, they would not have taken it openly, as much so as 
if they supposed they either had a right to it, or that the 
owners would not resent or hinder their taking it. 

$ 415. Of diversities and obliquities of moral judgment in connexion 
with speculative opinions. 

We may reasonably expect, in the third place, that 
there will be diversities of moral judgment, based upon 
diversities in important speculative opinions in morals, 
politics, and religion, and, in truth, upon almost any sub¬ 
ject.—Some years since the speculative opinion seems to 
have been prevalent through nearly the whole of the civ¬ 
ilized world, that the Negroes were an inferior race, lo¬ 
cated in the graduation of rank somewhere between the 
brute animals and man. This was the speculative belief. 
And what has been the consequence ? The fires of deso- 


MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 


439 

Iation have been kindled upon the coast of Africa; villa¬ 
ges and towns have been destroyed j a continual war has 
been kept up among the native tribes; and probably for¬ 
ty millions of persons have been torn away from their na¬ 
tive country, and consigned to perpetual slavery. 

While this erroneous speculative opinion held posses¬ 
sion, to a considerable extent, of the minds of men, the 
authority of conscience was paralyzed; her voice, if it 
was heard at all, was feeble, and scarcely excited no¬ 
tice. And why should it be otherwise ? If the Negroes 
are truly an inferior race to white men, darkened in intel¬ 
lect and imbruted in the affections, incapable of taking 
care of themselves, and still more of any intellectual and 
social advancement, what harm is there in bringing them 
into vassalage, and making them grind, like the brute an¬ 
imals to which they are so nearly related, in the prison- 
house of the more favoured species 1 The difficulty is 
not so much with the conscience as with the erroneous 
opinion. 

We learn from the Memoirs of the Rev. John Newton, 
of England, a man as much distinguished for his piety 
as for his intelligence and eloquence, that he was for 
some years personally engaged in the Slave Trade ; and 
that, too, after he had professed, and to all appearance 
with great sincerity, to be guided by the principles of the 
Christian religion. Such were the prevalent notions in 
regard to the blacks, that the traffic does not appear to 
have occurred to him as being morally wrong. He ex¬ 
pressly says: “ During the time I was engaged in the 
Slave Trade, I never had the least scruple of its lawful¬ 
ness.” He pursued it without any of those compunctious 
visitings, which could not fail to have troubled him if he 
had regarded them, as surely they ought to be regarded, 
as children of the same common parent, and as partici¬ 
pators, in the view of unprejudiced justice, in the same 
common inheritance of natural rights. 

$ 416. Further illustrations of the influence of wrong speculative opin¬ 
ions. 

The speculative opinion has formerly existed very ex¬ 
tensively, and does still to some degree, that the civil au- 




440 


UNIFORMITY OF ACTION IN THE 


thonty has a right, in relation to its own subjects, to ex¬ 
act conformity in the matters of religion. And the result 
has been, that thousands and hundreds of thousands, at va¬ 
rious times and in different countries, have been subjected 
to imprisonment, the torture, exile, and death. And those 
who have been the leading agents in these horrible trans¬ 
actions, from the persecutors of the Primitive Christians 
down to the Lauds and Bonners of later times, have per¬ 
petrated them, in their own estimation, with washed hands 
and a pure heart. They have gone from the Oratory to 
the dungeon of the Inquisition; they have, with unques¬ 
tionable sincerity, looked up to Heaven for a blessing, as 
they have applied to their mangled victims the screw and 
the wheel of torture; they have arisen from the knee of 
supplication to kindle with a pious haste the fires of 
Smithfield, and to wield the exterminating sword of the 
St. Bartholomew. They have done all this merely in 
consequence of entertaining a wrong speculative opinion 
conscientiously. 

§ 417. Influence of early associations on moral judgments. 

Our moral judgments, in the fourth place, are some¬ 
times perplexed and led in a direction different from what 
they would otherwise be, by means of early associations. 
—The principle of association does not operate upon the 
moral capacity directly ; it operates indirectly with con¬ 
siderable influence. When a particular action is to be 
judged of, it calls up in the minds of different individuals 
different and distinct series of accessory circumstances. 
It has the effect to place the thing, intellectually consid- 
ed, in a different position. This difference in the tenden¬ 
cies of the associating principle can hardly fail to have 
considerable effect in modifying the sentiment of appro¬ 
bation or disapprobation resulting from the consideration 
of any particular action. 

Accordingly, when vices are committed by near friends, 
by a brother or a parent, although they fill us with the 
deepest grief, (perhaps much greater than we should feel 
in the case of those who did not sustain so near a relation,) 
it is frequently the case that they do not excite within 
us such abhorrence of the actual guilt as we should be 


MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 


441 


likely to feel in other cases. Our prepossessions in favour 
of the persons who have committed the crime, suggest a 
thousand circumstances which seem to us to alleviate its 
aggravation. We frame for them a multitude of plausi¬ 
ble excuses, which we should not have thought of doing 
had it not been for the endearments and intercourse of 
our previous connexion. 

Savage life also gives us an illustration of the view T s 
now expressed. Owing to the peculiar situation of those 
in that state, and the consequent early associations, a fac¬ 
titious and exaggerated importance is attached to mere 
courage; and gentleness, equanimity, and benevolence 
are, as virtues, proportionally depressed. In this way their 
moral judgments are not unfrequently perplexed and ren¬ 
dered erroneous. 

§ 418. Of diversities in the moral judgment in connexion with an exci¬ 
ted state of the passions. 

Furthermore, there may be diversities of moral judg¬ 
ment ; in other words, the moral nature may occasionally 
be perplexed and led astray in its action, under the influ¬ 
ence of a state of excited passion.—The action of all the 
parts of the mind is a conditional one; that is to say, it 
takes place only under certain assignable circumstances. 
It is, for instance, one condition of moral action, as we have 
repeatedly had occasion to notice, that there must be an 
antecedent perception of the thing, whatever it is, upon 
which the moral judgment is to be passed. This con¬ 
dition of moral action is violated in the case under con¬ 
sideration, as well as in others. In a time of great ex¬ 
citement of passion, the moral emotion which would have 
existed under other circumstances has failed to arise, be¬ 
cause the soul is intensely and wholly taken up with an¬ 
other species of feeling. The perceptive and comparing 
part of the mind is not in a situation to take a right view 
of the subject, whatever it is. But after the present pas¬ 
sion has subsided, so as to give the person an opportunity 
to inquire and reflect, the power of moral judgment re¬ 
turns. And at once the individual, who has been the 
subject of such violence of feeling, looks with horror on 
the deeds which he has committed. 





442 


MORAL EDUCATION. 


In this, and in all the cases which have been mentioned, 
the conscience will probably be found to be in harmony 
with itself. Its defective judgments are not owing to 
any defect in its own nature; but to the circumstance, 
owing to ignorance, to early training, prejudice, wrong 
associations, and inordinate passion, and perhaps some 
other Causes similar in their results, that an imperfect or 
distorted view of the facts has been presented before it. 


CHAPTER V. 

MORAL EDUCATION. 

$ 419. Suggestions on the importance of moral education. 

We do not feel at liberty to leave the subject of the 
Moral Sensibilities without offering a few remarks, -chief¬ 
ly of a practical nature, on the subject of moral educa¬ 
tion in general. It is perhaps unnecessary to occupy time 
in attempting to show the importance of such education, 
since no one can be ignorant of the deplorable consequen¬ 
ces which follow from an utter neglect of it. But, not¬ 
withstanding the general concession of its importance, it 
has ever held a ■ subordinate rank, compared with that 
purely intellectual education which deals wholly with the 
mere acquisition of knowledge. 

While no one presumes to assert that moral education 
is unimportant, it must be acknowledged that it has been 
exceedingly neglected, in consequence of the greater 
value which has generally been attached to that training 
of the mind which has exclusive relation to its intel¬ 
lectual part. Children and youth have been taught with 
great zeal in everything where the head is concerned ; in 
grammar, geography, arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, 
and the like; and in almost nothing which concerns the 
heart. No pains have been spared in favour of the intel¬ 
lect, while the sensitive part of our nature, the moral emo¬ 
tions, the lower modifications of desire, and the affections, 
have been left to take care of themselves. 



MORAL EDUCATION. 


443 

Supposing this to be nearly the true state of things, 
every reflecting- mind must contemplate it with regret, 
and will look forward with great interest to the time, 
when moral education shall at least be put on a footing 
with intellectual, if it do not take the precedence of it. 
Certain it is, that a firm and ample foundation is laid for 
this species of mental training, if the doctrines which 
have been advanced in the course of this Work are cor¬ 
rect j first, that we have intellectually the power of 
forming the abstract conceptions of right and wrong, of 
merit and demerit, which necessarily involves that there 
is an immutable standard of rectitude; and, second, that, 
in the department of the Sensibilities, we have, in corre¬ 
spondence with the fact of such an immutable standard, 
the implanted principle of the Moral Sensibility or Con¬ 
science, which, in the Emotive form of its action, indi¬ 
cates our conformity to the standard of rectitude or diver¬ 
gency from it, and in its Obligatory action authoritatively 
requires conformity. We assert that we have here basis 
enough for a consistent and durable moral education; 
especially when we take into view the close connexion 
existing between the conscience and the intellect, partic¬ 
ularly the reasoning power. 

§ 420. The mind early occupied either with good or bad principles. 

It may perhaps be suggested here, admitting the gen¬ 
eral fact of the great importance of moral education, that 
it would be better to leave the subject of morals until 
persons are old enough to decide on all subjects of this 
nature for themselves. This suggestion would be entitled 
to more weight, if it were possible, in the mean while, for 
the mind to remain a moral blank. But this does not 
appear to be the case. As the mind is continually opera¬ 
tive, it is almost a matter of course that it receives, and, 
as it were, incorporates into itself, moral principles either 
right or wrong. We are surrounded with such a variety 
of active influences, that he who is not imbued with good 
cannot reasonably expect to be uncontaminated with evil. 
In order, therefore, to prevent the contaminations of vice, 
it is necessary to preoccupy the mind by the careful in¬ 
troduction and the faithful cultivation of the elements of 





M011AJL EDUCATION. 


444 

virtue. Let the young mind, therefore, the minds of chil¬ 
dren and youth, be made the subjects of assiduous moral 
culture. 

$ 421. Of the time when moral instruction ought to commence. 

We cannot but conclude, therefore, that a course of 
moral training ought to be commenced at an early period. 
It is a truth sufficiently established, that we begin to 
learn as soon as we begin to exist. The infant no sooner 
comes into the world, than the mind expands itself for 
the reception of knowledge, as naturally as the flower 
opens its rejoicing leaves to the rising sun. The earnest¬ 
ness which it discovers as it turns its eye towards the 
light or any bright object, its expression of surprise on 
hearing sudden and loud sounds, its strong propensity to 
imitate the actions and words of its attendants, all show 
most clearly that the work of intellectual developement 
is begun. 

While no one doubts this early developement of the 
intellect, it has not been so generally admitted to be true 
of the pathematic and moral part of our nature. But 
there is no sufficient ground, as we have already had oc¬ 
casion to intimate, for a distinction in this respect; the 
developement of the head and the heart, of the intellect 
and the sentient nature, begins essentially at one and the 
same time. It is true that the perceptive or intellectual 
action is necessarily antecedent in the order of nature; but 
the sensitive action, both natural and moral, follows closely 
and perseveringly in its train. And this also may be ad¬ 
ded, viz., that the developement of the moral nature in its 
leading outlines appears to be sooner completed. Facts 
and the relations of facts, which are the subjects of the 
intellectual activity, are infinite. But the great, princi¬ 
ples of morals, however multiplied they may be in their 
applications, are in themselves few and simple. How 
few persons, at the age of fourteen or sixteen years, have 
completed their attainments in knowledge, and have fully 
unfolded and strengthened all their intellectual powers! 
And yet how many at the same age have established 
such a decided moral character, either for good or evil, as 
almost to preclude a hope of a correction of its deformi- 


MORAL EDUCATION. 


445 


ties in the one case, or the enhancement of its beauties 
in the other! 


$ 422. Of the discouragements attending a process of moral instruction. 

And here we would remark upon one discouragement 
which frequently attends the efforts of those who are so 
situated as to render it especially their duty to impart in¬ 
struction to the young. We refer to the fact that it is 
sometimes, and but too frequently, the case, that they see 
but little immediate good results from their labours. They 
can see distinctly the advancement of their pupils in that 
knowledge which is appropriate to the intellect, but are 
less able to measure their progress in what pertains to the 
moral culture. Indeed, they too often believe that their 
instruction is seed sown upon stony ground, which is not 
only unproductive at present, but is absolutely and for¬ 


ever lost. .. 

This is a great mistake. The truth is, that nothing is 
lost. The moral and religious instruction which is com¬ 
municated to the youthful memory, is deposited in the 
keeping of a power which may sometimes slumber, but 
can never die. It may long be unproductive ; it may re¬ 
main for years without giving signs of vivification and of 
an operative influence; and yet it may be only waiting 
for some more favourable and important moment, when it 
shall come forth suddenly and prominently to view. No 
one, therefore, ought to be discouraged m the discharge 
of this duty. In nothing is the Scriptural declaration 
more likely to be fulfilled in its richest import. “Cast 
thy bread upon the waters, and thou shalt find it alter 

M M^titudes of illustrations might be introduced to con¬ 
firm the views of this section. How natural is the fol¬ 
lowing incident! And how agreeable, therefore, to sound 
philosophy!—“ When I was a little child,” said a religious 
man “ mv mother used to bid me kneel beside her, and 
place her hand upon my head while she prayed. Ere 1 
was old enough to know her worth, she died, and I was 
left much to my own guidance. Like others, I was in- 
dined to evil passions, but often felt myself checked, and, 
as it were, drawn back by the soft hand upon my head. 
P p 


446 


MORAL EDUCATION 


When I was a young man I travelled in foreign lands, 
and was exposed to many temptations; but when I would 
have yielded, that same hand was upon my head , and I 
was saved. I seemed to feel its pressure as in the days 
of my happy infancy, and sometimes there came with it a 
voice m my heart, a voice that must be obeyed; Oh, do 
not this wickedness, my son, nor sin against thy God.” 


$ 423. Of the importance, in a moral point of view, of adopting correct 
speculative opinions. 

But, while we assert that there is ample basis in the 
mental constitution for a moral education, that this edu¬ 
cation ought to be commenced at an early period, and 
that such a course of training has its due share of encour¬ 
agements, we acknowledge that it is not an easy thing in 
a few words to point out the characteristics, and to indi¬ 
cate the outlines of a system of moral culture. Accord¬ 
ingly, we shall not attempt it any further than to add a 
tew general suggestions. We proceed, therefore, to re- 
mark that suitable pains ought to be taken to introduce 
into the young mind correct speculative opinions. 

It was seen in a former Chapter that the conscience 
acts in view of the facts which are before it. It will fol¬ 
low, therefore, if we adopt wrong opinions, whatever they 
may be, they will have an effect upon the conscience. 
It these opinions be important, be fundamental, they will 
be likely to lead us in a course which, under other cir¬ 
cumstances, we should regard as wrong in the very high¬ 
est degree. The belief that men by nature possess equal 
nghts, is in itself nothing more than a speculative opinion * 
but this opinion, simple and harmless as it may seem in 
its enunciation, is at this moment shaking thrones, unbind¬ 
ing the chains of millions, and remodelling the vast fabric 
of society The opinion that the rights of conscience are 

the reinin’ T *1"° “t^ 1 ! f e g ulate byviolentmeans 
the religion of another, is breaking the wheel of torture 

?f d T ench '"S *e fire of persecution, and quickening into’ 
life the smothered worship of the world. The speculative 
opinion that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, appeared in the 
orm of man, and by his death made an atonement for 
sin, is a truth, simple and ineffective as it may at first 


MORAL EDUCATION. 


447 


sight appear, which has already changed the face of do¬ 
mestic and civil society, and, like a little leaven which 
leaveneth the whole lump, is secretly regenerating the 
whole mass of human nature. 

We infer, therefore, that it is highly important to con¬ 
sider well what truths we adopt. The doctrine that it is 
no matter what we believe, if we are only sincere in it, is 
derogatory to the claims of human reason, and full of 
danger. What persecutor, what tyrant, what robber, 
what assassin may not put in his claim for a sort of sin¬ 
cerity, and, in many cases, justly too ? It is a sincerity, a 
conscientiousness based on all the wisdom which human 
intelligence, in its best efforts, can gather up, and nothing 
short of this, which stands approved in the sight of hu¬ 
man reason and of a just Divinity. 

§ 424. Of the knowledge of the Supreme Being, and of the study of 
religious truth generally. 

And, in connexion with what has been said in the pre¬ 
ceding section, we proceed to remark further, that all 
morality must necessarily be defective, in a greater or less 
degree, which proceeds on the principle of excluding re¬ 
ligion. It is true that a man who is not religious, (in 
other words, who has not a sincere regard for the char¬ 
acter and institutions of the Supreme Being,) may do some 
things which, in themselves considered, are right and are 
morally commendable; but he does not do all that is right, 
he comes short in the most essential part. And his fail¬ 
ure there renders it difficult, perhaps we may say impos¬ 
sible, to speak of him, with any degree of propriety and 
truth, as a right, that is to say, as a just or holy person. 

We assert, therefore, that moral education must include, 
as a leading element, some instruction in regard to the 
existence and character of God, and those religious duties 
which are involved in the fact of his existence and char¬ 
acter. Our conscience, the office of which is to adjust 
our duties to our ability and the relations we sustain, im¬ 
peratively requires this. In the eye of an enlightened in¬ 
tellectual perception, God stands forth distinct from, and 
pre-eminent above all others, as an object infinitely ex¬ 
alted ; and a want of love to his character and of adhe- 




448 


MORAL EDUCATION. 


sion to his law is, in the view of conscience, a crime so 
grossly flagrant in itself as not to be atoned for by any 
other virtue. And not only this; a proper regard for the 
character of the Supreme Being has such a multiplicity 
of bearings and relations, in consequence of the diffusion 
of his presence, and the multiplicity of his acts and re¬ 
quirements, that the crime involved in the want of it 
seems to spread itself over the infinite number of transac¬ 
tions which, taken together, constitute the sum of life. 
So that the doctrine of the existence of God, received into 
the intellect, and attended, as it should be, with perfect 
love in the heart, is, beyond all question, the great found¬ 
ation and support of a truly consistent moral life. 


THE SENSIBILITIES, OR SENSITIVE 
NATURE. 

SENSITIVE STATES OF THE MIND OR SENTIMENTS. 


PART THIRD. 


IMPERFECT OR DISORDERED SENSITIVE ACTION. 























■ 

.4 - ■ M 


'V ^ 





- 











CHAPTER I. 

DISORDERED AND ALIENATED ACTION OF THE APPETITES AND 
PROPENSITIES. 

§ 425. Introductory remarks on disordered sensitive action. 

With what has now been said on the subject of our 
moral nature, we bring the interesting and important de¬ 
partment of the Sensibilities, in its two leading forms of 
the Natural or Pathematic Sensibilities, and of the Moral 
Sensibilities, to a conclusion. In saying this, however, 
we have reference to its regular and ordinary action, or 
that action which takes place in accordance with the or¬ 
dinary and permanent principles of the Sensitive nature. 
But it remains to be added further, that there are instan¬ 
ces here, as well as in the Intellect, of marked and disas¬ 
trous deviations from the salutary restraint which these 
principles impose. In other words, there is not unfre- 
quently an action of the Sensibilities which is so far out 
of the ordinary or natural line of the precedents of the 
heart and the morals, that it may be properly, described, 
sometimes as an imperfect or disordered, and sometimes 
as an alienated action.—It is to the examination of this 
subject, a knowledge of which is obviously necessary to 
a comprehensive and complete view of the Sensibilities, 
that we now propose to proceed. 

$ 426. Of what is meant by a disordered and alienated state of the 
sensibilities. 

It may be proper to remark here, that an imperfect or 
disordered action of the Sensibilities may express merely 
an irregularity of action, something out of the common 
and ordinary course of action or, as the form of expres¬ 
sion is obviously a somewhat general and indefinite one, 
it may indicate something more. When, for instance, 
this irregular and disordered state passes a certain limit, 
goes beyond a certain boundary which is more easily 
conceived than described, it becomes Insanity or Aliena¬ 
tion. That is to say, the merely irregular action becomes 


452 DISORDERED AND ALIENATED ACTION 

an insane or alienated action, when it becomes so great, 
so pervading, and so deeply rooted in the mind, that the 
individual has no power of restoration in himself. So that 
it would seem to follow, in view of this remark, that there 
may be a disordered state of the mind which is insanity; 
and, under other circumstances, a disordered state of the 
mind which is not insanity, or, rather, which is less than 
insanity. But in either case this condition of mind is not 
to be regarded, nor is it, in point of fact, a sound mental 
state. Although we may not be able to say specifically, 
in a given case, that the disorder has reached the point 
of insanity, yet it is certain that the mind in this disor¬ 
dered state, whether the disorder be greater or less, is 
presented to our view in a new and important aspect. 

Unquestionably, a wide and interesting field of remark 
is opened here. Nevertheless, what we have to say will 
necessarily be brief, indicating rather the general trains 
of thought which naturally present themselves, than fol¬ 
lowing them out into minuteness of detail. And in exe¬ 
cuting this plan,, imperfect as it can hardly fail to be, we 
shall conform, so far as may be practicable, to those class¬ 
ifications of our Sensitive nature which have hitherto 
helped to aid our inquiries. 

$ 427. Of the disordered and alienated action of the appetites. 

Accordingly we remark, in the first place, that there 
maybe a disordered and alienated action of the Appe¬ 
tites.—It is well known that the appetites grow stronger 
and stronger by repeated indulgence. While the process 
of increased appetitive tendency is going on, there still 
remains, in the majority of cases, enough of remonstrance 
in the conscience, and of restrictive and aggressive energy 
in the Will, to ward off that state of thraldom which is 
rapidly approaching. But in some melancholy cases it 
is otherwise; the line of demarcation, which separates the 
possibility and the impossibility of a restoration, is passed; 
and from that time onward there is nothing but inter¬ 
minable sinking. Such cases as these may tmdoubtedly 
be regarded as coming within the limits of some of the 
multiplied forms of mental alienation. 

The most frequent instances of mental alienation, ori- 


OF THE APPETITES AND PROPENSITIES. 453 

ginating in a disordered and excessive energy of the ap¬ 
petites, are to be found in that numerous class of persons 
who habitually indulge in the use of intoxicating drugs, 
particularly ardent spirits. When the person who indul¬ 
ges in the use of intoxicating liquors has so increased the 
energy of this pernicious appetite as really to bring him¬ 
self within the limits of mental alienation, there is no hope 
of a return by means of any effort which he himself is 
capable of making. He may have a clear perception of 
the misery of his situation ; the desire of esteem may still 
arouse within him the recollection of what he once was 
and of what he still ought to be; the conscience may still 
speak out in remonstrance, though probably with a dimin¬ 
ished voice; the will may continue to put forth some in¬ 
effectual struggles; but it is found to be all in vain. If 
left to himself, and not put under that constraint which 
is proper to persons in actual insanity, it may be regarded 
as a matter of moral certainty that he will plunge deeper 
and deeper in the degrading vice of which he is the sub¬ 
ject, so long as the remaining powers of life shall support 
him in the process. 

The individuals who are in this situation seem them¬ 
selves to have a consciousness of this. They see clearly 
that in their own strength there is no hope. In repeated 
instances such persons have gone to keepers of peniten¬ 
tiaries and other prisons, and earnestly entreated for ad¬ 
mission, on the ground that nothing short of strict seclu¬ 
sion within their massy walls would secure them against 
the ruinous indulgence of their appetite.—“ The use of 
strong drink,” says Dr. Rush, (Diseases of the Mind, ch. 
x.,) “ is at first the effect of free agency. From habit it 
takes place from necessity. That this is the case, I infer 
from persons who are inordinately devoted to the use of 
ardent spirits being irreclaimable, by all the considera¬ 
tions which domestic obligations, friendship, reputation, 
property, and sometimes even by those which religion 
i and the love of life can suggest to them. An instance of 
insensibility to the last, in an habitual drunkard, occurred 
some years ago in Philadelphia. When strongly urged, 
by one of his friends, to leave off drinking, he said, ‘Were 
a keg of rum in one corner of a room, and were a cannon 



454 DISORDERED AND ALIENATED ACTION 

constantly discharging balls between me and it, I could 
not refrain from passing before that cannon in order to 
get at the rum.’ ” 

§ 428. Disordered action of the principle of self-preservation. 

As we advance upward from the Appetites to the re¬ 
gion of the Propensities, such as the principle of self-pres¬ 
ervation, the desire of knowledge, the desire of society, 
and the like, we shall find the latter, as well as the for¬ 
mer, probably without an exception, subject, in certain 
individuals, to a greater or less degree of what may be 
termed a diseased or disordered action. We begin with 
the propensive principle of Self-preservation, or what 
may be designated in other terms as the natural desire 
of a continuance of existence. This principle, like the 
others of the same class, although not generally in so 
marked a degree, will sometimes manifest itself under 
such circumstances and in such a manner as obviously 
to show that its action is not a natural, regular, or healthy 
action. Persons under the influence of the disordered 
action of the principle which is connected with the pres¬ 
ervation of life, multiply, as they would be naturally sup¬ 
posed to do, images of danger and terror which have no 
existence, nor likeness of existence, except in their own 
disordered minds. They not only see perils which are 
invisible to others, but are led to take a multitude of pre¬ 
cautions which, in the estimation of those around them, 
are altogether unnecessary, and even ridiculous. 

Pinel, under the head of Melancholy, mentions a case 
which may be considered as illustrating this subject. “A 
distinguished military officer,” he says, “ after fifty years 
of active service in the cavalry, was attacked with dis¬ 
ease. It commenced by his experiencing vivid emotions 
from the slightest causes; if, for example, he heard any 
disease spoken of, he immediately believed himself to be 
attacked by it; if any one was mentioned as deranged 
in intellect, he imagined himself insane, and retired into 
his chamber full of melancholy thoughts and inquietude. 
Everything became for him a subject of fear and alarm.* 
If he entered into a house, he was afraid that the floor 
would fall and precipitate him amid its ruins. He could 


OF THE APPETITES AND PROPENSITIES. 455 

not pass a bridge without terror, unless impelled by the 
sentiment of honour for the purpose of fighting.”* 

§ 429. Disordered and alienated action of the possessory principle. 

There are instances, occurring with a considerable de¬ 
gree of frequency, of a disordered or alienated action of 
the desire of possession, or the Possessory principle. Some 
of these are voluntary; that is to say, are brought about 
by a course of action, of which the responsibility rests 
upon the individual. Others appear to be congenital.or 
natural.—Among the class of confirmed misers, we shall 
be likely, from time to time, to find instances of the first 
class. There are individuals among this class of persons 
who have so increased the energy of the Possessory prin¬ 
ciple (Acquisitiveness, as it is sometimes conveniently 
termed) by a long voluntary course of repetition, that its 
action is no longer under the control of the Will, but has 
obviously passed over into the region of mental alienation. 
Such probably must have been the case with a certain indi¬ 
vidual mentioned by Valerius Maximus, who took advan¬ 
tage of a famine to sell a mouse for two hundred pence, 
and then famished himself with the money in his pocket. 
—It is difficult to tell, however, although a person may 
unquestionably become insane in his avarice, whether this 
is actually the case in any given instance, or whether, 
notwithstanding its intensity, it falls in some degree short 
of alienation. 

$ 430. Instances of the second kind or form of disordered action of 
the possessory principle. 

There are other instances of the disordered action of 
the principle of Acquisitiveness, which appear to be con¬ 
genital or constitutional. In the case of the persons to 
whom we now have reference, the disposition to get pos¬ 
session of whatever can be regarded as property, whether 
of greater or less value, show's itself, not only in great 
strength, but at a very early period of life. There are a 
considerable number of cases of this kind to be found in 
the writings of Gall and Spurzheim ; and there are some 
notices of similar cases in a few other writers. Dr. Rush, 
* Pinel, as quoted in Combe’s Phrenology, Boston ed., p. 241. 






456 DISORDERED AND ALIENATED ACTION 

for instance, in his Medical Inquiries, mentions a woman 
who was entirely exemplary in her conduct except in 
one particular. “ She could not refrain from stealing* 
What made this vice the more remarkable was, that she 
was in easy circumstances, and not addicted to extrava¬ 
gance in anything. Such was the propensity to this vice, 
that, when she could lay her hands on nothing more val¬ 
uable, she would often, at the table of a friend, fill her 
pockets secretly with bread. She both confessed and la¬ 
mented her crime.” 

Some of the facts which are given by Dr. Gall are as 
follows.—“ Victor Amadeus L, King of Sardinia, was in 
the constant habit of stealing trifles. Saurin, pastor at 
Geneva, though possessing the strongest principles of rea¬ 
son and religion, frequently yielded to the propensity to 
steal. Another individual was from early youth a victim 
to this inclination. He entered the military service on 
purpose that he might be restrained by the severity of 
the discipline; but, having continued his practices, he was 
on the point of being condemned to be hanged. Ever 
seeking to combat his ruling passion, he studied theology 
and became a Capuchin. But his propensity followed 
him even to the cloister. Here, however, as he found 
only trifles to tempt him, he indulged himself in his 
strange fancy with less scruple. He seized scissors, can¬ 
dlesticks, snuffers, cups, goblets, and conveyed them to his 
cell. An agent of the government at Vienna had the 
singular mania for stealing nothing but kitchen utensils. 
He hired two rooms as a place of deposite; he did not 
sell, and made no use of them. The wife of the famous 
physician Gaubius had such a propensity to pilfer, that, 
when she made a purchase, she always sought to take 
something.”* 

<$ 431. Disordered action of imitativeness, or the principle of imitation. 

The proof that there is in man a principle of imitation, 
which impels him to do as others do, is so abundant as 
probably to leave no reasonable doubt upon the candid 
mind. This principle, as compared with its ordinary op¬ 
eration and character, is found in some individuals to ex- 
* Gall’s Works, vol. iv., Am. ed., p. 132. 



OF THE APPETITES AND PROPENSITIES. 457 

hibit an irregular or diseased action. M. Pine], as he 
is quoted by Dr. Gall, speaks of an idiot woman “ who 
had an irresistible propensity to imitate all that she saw 
done in her presence. She repeats, instinctively , all she 
hears, and imitates the gestures and actions of others 
with the greatest fidelity; and without troubling herself 
with any regard to propriety.”*—Under the form of 
Sympathetic Imitation, the disordered action of this prin¬ 
ciple becomes very important; so much so, that we shall 
leave the subject here for the purpose of considering it 
more at length than we could otherwise do, in a separate 
chapter. 

$ 432. Disordered action of the principle of sociality. 

The principle of Sociality, obviously one of the im¬ 
planted propensities of our nature, may exist with such a 
degree of intensity as justly to entitle its action to be 
called a disordered, and, in some cases, even an alienated 
action. In connexion with this remark, it may be proper 
to revert a moment to the precise idea which we attach 
to the term alienation, considered as expressive of a state 
or condition of the mind. There may be an imperfection 
of mental action, there may be a disorder of mental ac¬ 
tion, which is nevertheless not an alienation of mental 
action. The term alienation properly applies to those 
forms of mental action which are so much disordered as 
to set at defiance any efforts of the Will to control them ; 
in a word, they are involuntary. So that, in accordance 
with this statement, there may be either a disordered 
state of the principle of sociality or of any other princi¬ 
ple, (that is to say, one which is irregular, but still is sus¬ 
ceptible of correction under the efforts of the will;) or 
there may be, when this disorder is found to exist beyond 
certain limits, an alienated, an insane state. But, although 
this distinction should be fully understood, it is not neces¬ 
sary, in the remarks which, for the most part, we have oc¬ 
casion to make, that we should always keep it distinctly 
in view. 

But to return to our subject. An irregular action of 
the social principle, whether it be truly alienated or exist 
* Gall’s Works, vol. i., p. 320. 

Q Q 


458 DISORDERED AND ALIENATED ACTION 

in some lighter form of disorder, may show itself in two 
aspects, which are entirely diverse from each other, viz., 
either in a morbid aversion to society, or in a desire of 
society inordinately intense.—Persons to whom the first 
statement will apply are generally, and for the most part 
justly, designated as Misanthropes. Under the influence 
of some sudden revulsion of the mind, of some great dis¬ 
appointment, of some ill-treatment on the part of near 
relatives and supposed friends, or of some other powerful 
cause, the natural tie of brotherhood, which binds man to 
his fellow-man, is snapped asunder, and the unhappy in¬ 
dividual flees to the solitude of the rock and the desert 
never more to return. 

§ 433. Further remarks on the disordered action of the social propensity. 

There is another class of cases, which in their charac¬ 
ter appear to be directly the reverse of those which have 
just been mentioned. Individuals, when they are cut off 
from society, particularly the society of their friends, are 
sometimes the subjects of a misery inexpressibly intense. 
The innocent but unfortunate Foscari, who was banished 
from Venice in 1450, died, apparently in consequence 
of the mere mental anguish which he suffered. Cases 
are also enumerated of death resulting from solitary con¬ 
finement in prison* There is an exceedingly painful 
disease, founded in a great degree upon the disordered 
action of the social principle, which is termed by physi¬ 
cians Nostalgia, but which is more commonly known un¬ 
der the familiar designation of home-sickness. This dis¬ 
ease, which is sometimes fatal, is said to have frequently 
prevailed among the Swiss when absent from their na¬ 
tive country. The beautiful sky which shone over them 
in their absence from their native land, the works of art, 
the allurements of the highest forms of civilization, could 
not erase from their hearts the image of their rugged 
mountains and their stormy heavens. They had society 
enough around them, it is true; but it was not the socie¬ 
ty which their hearts sought for, or in which, in existing 
circumstances, they could participate. They bowed their 
heads under the influence of a hidden and irrepressible 

* See the large ed. of this Work, vol. ii., $ 144, 148. 


OF THE APPETITES AND PROPENSITIES. 459 

sorrow ; and in many cases not merely pined away, but 
died in the deep anguish of their separation. 

In the year 1733, a Russian army, under the command 
of General Praxin, advanced to the banks of the Rhine. 
At this remote distance from their native country, this se¬ 
vere mental disease began to prevail among the Russians, 
so much so that five or six soldiers every day became un¬ 
fit for duty; a state of things which threatened to affect 
the existence of the ^rmy. The progress of this home¬ 
sickness was terminated by a severe order from the com¬ 
mander, (designed probably, and which had the effect to 
produce a strong counteracting state of mind,) that every 
one affected with the sickness should be buried alive.* 

$ 434. Of the disordered action of the desire of esteem. 

There may be a disordered action of the desire of Es¬ 
teem. This principle is not only an original one, but, 
as a general thing, it possesses, as compared with some 
of the other Propensities, a greater and more available 
amount of strength. It is a regard for the opinions of 
others, (a sense of character, as we sometimes term it,) 
which, in the absence or the too great weakness of high¬ 
er principles, serves to restrict the conduct of multitudes 
within the bounds of decency and order. This principle 
is good and important in its place and under due regula¬ 
tion ; but it is exceedingly apt to become irregular, unre¬ 
strained, and inordinate in its exercise. This view throws 
light upon the character of many individuals. It is here, 
probably, that we may discover the leading defect in the 
character of Alcibiades, a name of distinguished celeb¬ 
rity in the history of Athens. His ruling passion seems to 
have been not so much the love of power as the love of 
applause. In other words, his great desire was, as has 
been well remarked of him, “ to make a noise, and to 
furnish matter of conversation to the Athenians.” 

Pope, in the First of his Moral Essays, illustrates this 
subject, in his usual powerful manner, in what he says of 
the Duke of Wharton; the key to whose character he 
finds in the excessive desire of human applause. 


Dr. Rush on the Diseases of the Mind, 2d. ed., p. 113. 


460 DISORDERED AND ALIENATED ACTION, ETC. 

“ Search then the ruling passion. There alone 
The wild are constant, and the cunning known; 

This clew once found, unravels all the rest, 

The prospect clears, and Wharton stands confess’d. 

Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days, 

Whose ruling passion was the lust of praise. 

Born with whate’er could win it from the wise, 

Women and fools must like him, or he dies.” 

The inordinate exercise of this propensity, as is correct¬ 
ly intimated by Mr. Stewart, tends to disorganize the 
mind. The man who is under the influence of such an 
excessive appetite for the world’s smiles and flatteries, has 
no fixed rule of conduct; but the action of his mind, 
his opinions, desires, hopes, and outward conduct, are 
constantly fluctuating with the changing tide of popular 
sentiment. It is nearly impossible that the pillars of the 
mind should remain firm, and without more or less of un¬ 
dermining and dislocation, under the operations of such 
a system of uncertainty and vicissitude.—Nor is this all. 
When persons who are under the influence of this exces¬ 
sive desire are disappointed in the possession of that ap¬ 
probation and applause which is its natural food, they are 
apt to become melancholy, misanthropic, and unhappy in a 
very high degree. In fact, numerous cases of actual In¬ 
sanity, if we look carefully at the statements of writers 
on the subject of Mental Alienation, may probably be tra¬ 
ced to this source. 

§ 435. Disordered action of the desire of power. 

Men become disordered in mind, and sometimes ac¬ 
tually insane, not only by the inordinate indulgence of 
the desire of esteem and the desire of possession, but 
also, perhaps with no less frequency, under the influence 
of the exaggerated and intense desire of power. They 
are looking onward and upward, with an excited heart 
and constrained eye, to some form of authority, honour, 
and dominion, till this desire, strengthened by constant 
repetition, becomes the predominant feeling. Instances 
where the disorder of the mind arises in this way and 
exists to this extent are innumerable. But it is not al¬ 
ways that it stops here. If the desire is suddenly and 
greatly disappointed, as it is very likely to be, the reac- 


SYMPATHETIC IMITATION. 


461 


tion upon the whole mind may he such as to cause disor¬ 
der in all its functions, and leave it a wide mass of ruins. 

The history of those who are confined in Insane Hos¬ 
pitals furnishes a strong presumption that such results are 
not unfrequent. Although the mind is deranged, the 
predominant feeling which led to the derangement seems 
still to remain. One individual challenges for himself 
the honours of a Chancellor, another of a King; one is 
a member of Parliament, another is the Lord Mayor of 
London; one, under the name of the Duke of Welling¬ 
ton or Bonaparte, claims to be the commander of mighty 
armies; another announces himself with the tone and at¬ 
titude of a Prophet of the Most High. Pinel informs us 
that there were at one time no less than three maniacs in 
one of the French Insane Hospitals, each of whom assu¬ 
med to be Louis XIV. On one occasion, these individu¬ 
als were found disputing with each other, with a great 
degree of energy, their respective rights to the throne. 
The dispute was terminated by the sagacity of the super¬ 
intendent, who, approaching one of them, gave him, with 
a serious look, to understand that he ought not to dispute 
on the subject with the others, since they were obviously 
mad. “ Is it not well known,” said the superintendent, 
“that you alone ought to be acknowledged as Louis 
XIV. V 9 The insane person, flattered with this homage, 
cast upon his companions a look of the most marked dis¬ 
dain, and immediately retired. 


CHAPTER H. 

SYMPATHETIC IMITATION. 

$ 436. Of sympathetic imitation, and what is involved in it. 

We endeavoured, in its proper place, to illustrate the 
natural origin and the prevalence of the propensity to im¬ 
itation. In connexion with the general truth of the ex¬ 
istence of such a propensity, it is proper to observe here 
that there is a subordinate and peculiar form of imitation, 
Qq2 





462 


SYMPATHETIC IMITATION. 


which is deserving of a separate notice, and particularly 
so on account of its practical results. We speak now 
of what has been appropriately termed Sympathetic Imi¬ 
tation. 

It is implied, in all cases of Sympathetic Imitation, that 
there is more than one person concerned in them ; and it 
exists, in general, in the highest degree, when the number 
of persons is considerable. Some one or more of these 
individuals is strongly agitated by some internal emotion, 
desire, or passion; and this inward agitation is expressed 
by the countenance, gestures, or other external signs. 
There is also a communication of such agitation of the 
mind to others; they experience similar emotions, desires, 
and passions. And these new exercises of soul are ex¬ 
pressed on the part of the sympathetic person by similar 
outward signs. In a single word, when we are under the 
influence of this form of imitation, we both act and feel 
as others. And this happens, not only in consequence of 
what we witness in them, and apparently for no other 
reason, but it happens naturally ; that is to say, in virtue 
of an implanted or natural principle. The view which 
we are inclined to take of this principle is, that, although 
we may properly speak of it, on account of its close re¬ 
semblance, as a modification of the more ordinary form 
of Imitativeness, yet, on the whole, it is so far distinct and 
specific in its character as to entitle it to be regarded as 
a separate part of our sensitive nature. As such it might 
have been treated of in another place; but in its ordina¬ 
ry action it is generally well understood; and we have 
delayed the consideration of it till the present time, be¬ 
cause it is our principal object to give some account of its 
disordered or alienated action. 

$ 437. Familiar instances of sympathetic imitation. 

Abundance of instances (many of them frequent and 
familiar) show the existence of sympathetic imitation; 
in other words, that there is in human feelings, and in the 
signs of those feelings, a power of contagious commu¬ 
nication, by which they often spread themselves rapidly 
from one to another. 

“ In general it may be remarked,” says Mr. Stewart, 


SYMPATHETIC IMITATION. 


463 


“ that whenever we see in the countenance of another in¬ 
dividual any sudden change of features, more especially 
such a change as is expressive of any particular passion 
or emotion, our own countenance has a tendency to assimi¬ 
late itself to his. Every man is sensible of this when he 
looks at a person under the influence of laughter or in a 
deep melancholy. Something, too, of the same kind takes 
place in that spasm of the muscles of the jaw which we 
experience in yawning; an action which is well known 
to be frequently excited by the contagious power of ex¬ 
ample.”* 

To these statements, illustrative of sympathetic imita¬ 
tion, may be added the fact, that if there are a number 
of children together, and one of them suddenly gives way 
to tears and sobs, it is generally the case that all the rest 
are more or less affected in the same manner. Another 
case, illustrative of the same natural principle, is that of 
a mob when they gaze at a dancer on the slack rope. 
They seem not only to be filled with the same anxiety, 
which we may suppose to exist in the rope-dancer him¬ 
self ; but they naturally writhe, and twist, and balance 
their own bodies as they see him do. It has also been 
frequently remarked, that when we see a stroke aimed 
and just ready to fall upon the leg or arm of another per¬ 
son, we naturally shrink, and slightly draw back our own 
leg or arm, with a sort of prophetic or anticipative imi¬ 
tation of the person on whom the blow is about to be in¬ 
flicted. 

$ 438. Instances of sympathetic imitation at the poor-house of Haerlem. 

Multitudes of well-attested facts show the sympathet¬ 
ic connexion between mind and mind, and sympathy be¬ 
tween the mind and the nervous and muscular system. 
Few are more interesting or decisive than what is stated 
to have occurred at' Haerlem under the inspection of 
Boerhave.—“ In the house of charity at Haerlem,” says 
the account, “ a girl, under an impression of terror, fell 
into a convulsive disease, which returned in regular par¬ 
oxysms. One of the by-standers, intent upon assisting 
her, was seized with a similar fit, which also recurred at 

* Stewart’s Elements, vol. iii., chap. ii. 



464 


SYMPATHETIC IMITATION. 


intervals; and on the day following, another was attack¬ 
ed ; then a third, and a fourth; in short, almost the whole 
of the children, both girls and boys, were afflicted with 
these convulsions. No sooner was one seized, than the 
sight brought on the paroxysms in almost all the rest at 
the same time. Under these distressing circumstances, the 
physicians exhibited all the powerful anti-epileptic medi¬ 
cines with which their art furnishes them, but in vain. 
They then applied to Boerhave, who, compassionating the 
wretched condition of the poor children, repaired to Haer- 
lem; and while he was inquiring into the matter, one of 
them was seized with a fit, and immediately he saw sev¬ 
eral others attacked with a species of epileptic convul¬ 
sion. It presently occurred to this sagacious physician, 
that, as the best medicines had been skilfully administer¬ 
ed, and as the propagation of the disease from one to 
another appeared to depend on the imagination, [the 
sympathy of imagination,] by preventing this impression 
upon the mind, the disease might be cured; and his sug¬ 
gestion was successfully adopted. Having previously ap¬ 
prized the magistrates of his views, he ordered, in the 
presence of all the children, that several portable furna¬ 
ces should be placed in different parts of the chamber, 
containing burning coals; and that iron, bent to a certain 
form, should be placed in the furnaces; and then he gave 
these further commands ; that all medicines would be to¬ 
tally useless, and the only remedy with which he was 
acquainted was, that the first who should be seized with 
a fit, whether boy or girl, must be burned in the arm to the 
very bone by a red-hot iron. He spoke this with un¬ 
common dignity and gravity; and the children, terrified 
at the thoughts of this cruel remedy, when they perceiv¬ 
ed any tendency to the recurrence of the paroxysm, im¬ 
mediately exerted all their strength of mind, and called 
up the horrible idea of the burning; and were thus ena¬ 
bled, by the stronger mental impression, to resist the in¬ 
fluence of the morbid propensity.” 

$ 439. Other instances of this species of imitation. 

It would not be difficult to multiply cases similar to 
those which have been mentioned. A few years since, 


DISOREDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 465 

there was a man in Chelmsford, Massachusetts, who had 
a family of six children, one of whom became affected 
with the chorea, or St. Vitus’s dance. The others, in the 
indulgence of that thoughtless gayety which is natural to 
children, amused themselves with imitating his odd ges¬ 
tures, until, after a time, they were irresistibly affected in 
the same way. At this state of things, which seems to 
be susceptible of an explanation in no other way than on 
the principles of sympathetic imitation, the family, as 
may naturally be supposed, were in great affliction. The 
father, a man of some sagacity as well as singularity of 
humour, brought into the house a block and axe, and sol¬ 
emnly threatened to take off the head of the first child 
who should hereafter exhibit any involuntary bodily 
movement, except the child originally diseased. By this 
measure, which proceeded on the same view of the hu¬ 
man mind as the experiment of Boerhave just mentioned, 
a new train of feeling was excited, and the spell was 
broken.* 

It may be added, that not only those in the same 
family and in the same building have been seized, but 
the contagion has sometimes spread from one to another, 
(by the mere imitation of sympathy as we suppose,) over 
whole towns, and even large districts of country. This 
was the case in a part of the island of Anglesey in 1796; 
and still later in this country, in some parts of Tennessee.! 


CHAPTER III. 


DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 

§ 440. Of the states of mind denominated presentiments. 

We proceed now to remark, that there may be a disor¬ 
dered action of the Affections or Passions, as well as of the 
lower principles of the Sensitive nature; and this remark 
is designed to apply to both classes of the Affections, the 
benevolent and those of an opposite kind. We do not pro- 


* Powers’s Essay on the Influence of the Imagination, p. 32. 
t See Edinburgh Med. and Surg. Journal, vol. in., p. 44b. 


466 DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 

pose, however, in this Chapter, to confine ourselves very 
strictly to the Affections, properly so called ; but shall in¬ 
troduce some collateral or connected subjects, which may 
be regarded as too interesting to be omitted, and at the 
same time as too unimportant to require a distinct place. 
They may be expected, moreover, to throw indirectly 
some light upon the leading topic of the chapter. We 
begin with the subject of presentiments. 

Many individuals have had at certain times strong and 
distinct impressions in relation to something future;* so 
much so that not the least doubt has remained in their 
own minds of its being something out of the common 
course of nature. It is related, for instance, of the non¬ 
conformist writer, Isaac Ambrose, whose religious works 
formerly had some celebrity, that he had such a striking 
internal intimation of his approaching death, that he went 
round to all his friends to bid them farewell. When the 
day arrived, which his presentiments indicated as the 
day of his dissolution, he shut himself up in his room and 
died. Mozart, the great musical composer, had a strong 
presentiment that the celebrated Requiem which bears 
his name would be his last Work. Nothing could re¬ 
move this impression from his mind. He expressly said, 
“ It is certain I am writing this requiem for myself; it will 
serve for my funeral service.” The foreboding was re¬ 
alized. It is stated of Pendergrast, an officer in the 
Duke of Marlborough’s army, that he had a strong fore¬ 
boding that he would be killed on a certain day. He 
mentioned his conviction to others, and even made a 
written memorandum in relation to it. And the event 
was such as he had foretold it would be.* Henry the 
Fourth of France, for some weeks previous to his being 
assassinated by Ravaillac, had a distinct presentiment, 
which he mentioned to Sully and other men of his time, 
that some great calamity was about to befall him. 

Some cases of Presentiments can undoubtedly be ex¬ 
plained on natural principles. Some accidental circum¬ 
stance, a mere word, the vagaries of a dream, any trifling 
event, which happens in the popular belief of the time 
and country to be regarded as a sinister omen, may have 

* Boswell’s Life of Johnson, vol. ii., p. 48. 




DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 467 


been enough in some cases to have laid the foundation for 
them ; and the subsequent fulfilment may have been pure¬ 
ly accidental. Nor is it necessary, so far as we are able 
to perceive, to suppose that in any cases whatever there 
is any supernatural or miraculous interposition. But, if 
this is not the case, it is difficult to account for the deep 
conviction which sometimes fastens upon the mind, a con¬ 
viction upon which arguments and persuasions are found 
to make no impression, except upon the ground that the 
action of the Sensibilities is in some degree disordered. 
But of the specific nature of that disorder, the trait or 
circumstance which distinguishes it from other forms of 
disordered mental action, it is difficult to give any ac¬ 
count. 


§ 441. Of sudden and strong impulses of the mind. 

There is another disordered condition of the mind, dif¬ 
ferent from that which has just been mentioned, and yet 
in some respects closely allied to it. Some persons, 
whose soundness of mind on all ordinary occasions is be¬ 
yond question, find in themselves at certain times a sudden 
and strange propensity to do things, which, if done, 
would clearly prove them, to some extent at least, deran¬ 
ged. As an illustration, a person of-a perfectly sane 
mind, according to the common estimate of insanity, once 
acknowledged, that, whenever he passed a particular 
bridge, he felt a slight inclination to throw himself over, 
[accompanied with some dread that his inclination might 
hurry him away. Such slight alienated impulses are 
probably more frequent than is commonly supposed. 
And they exist in every variety of degree; sometimes 
scarcely attracting notice, at others bearing the broad 
and fatal stamp of dangerous insanity. 

Dr. Gall mentions the case of a woman in Germany, 
who, having on a certain occasion witnessed a building on 
fire, was ever afterward, at intervals, subject to strong im¬ 
pulses prompting her to fire buildings. Under the influ¬ 
ence of these impulses she set fire to twelve buildings in 
the borough where she lived. Having been arrested on 
the thirteenth attempt, she was tried, condemned, and ex¬ 
ecuted. “ She could give no other reason, nor show any 





468 DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 


other motive, for firing so many houses, than this impulse 
which drove her to it. Notwithstanding the fear, the ter¬ 
ror, and the repentance she felt in every instance after 
committing the crime, she went and did it afresh.”* 
Would not sound philosophy, to say nothing of the requi¬ 
sitions of religion, have assigned such a person to an in¬ 
sane hospital rather than to the block of the executioner 1 
The same writer, who has collected numerous valuable 
facts in relation to the operations of the human mind 
mentions the case of a German soldier, who was subject 
every month to a violent convulsive attack. “ He was j 
sensible,” he proceeds to remark, “ of their approach; and 
as he felt, by degrees, a violent propensity to kill, in pro- j 
portion as the paroxysm was on the point of commencing, 
he was earnest in his entreaties to be loaded with chains. 
At the end of some days the paroxysm and the fatal pro¬ 
pensity diminished, and he himself fixed the period at 
which they might without danger set him at liberty. At 
Haina, we saw a man who, at certain periods, felt an ir¬ 
resistible desire to injure others. He knew this unhappy 
propensity, and had himself kept in chains till he perceiv¬ 
ed that it was safe to liberate him. An individual of 
melancholy temperament was present at the execution of 
a criminal. The sight caused him such violent emotion, 
that he at once felt himself seized with an irresistible de¬ 
sire to kill, while, at the same time, he entertained the 
utmost horror at the commission of the crime. He de¬ 
picted his deplorable state, weeping bitterly, and in ex¬ 
treme perplexity. He beat his head, wrung his hands, 
remonstrated with himself, begged his friends to save 
themselves, and thanked them for the resistance they 
made to him.”f 

$ 442. Insanity of the affections or passions. 

From the instances which have been given, it will be 
seen that sudden and strong impulses, indicating a disor¬ 
dered state of the mind, may exist in reference to very j 
different things, and also in very various degrees. The 
cases last mentioned were of such an aggravated nature, 

* Gall’s Works, vol. iv., Am. ed., p. 105. 

t lb., vol. i., p. 329. 


DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 469 

that they may properly be regarded as instances (and per¬ 
haps the same view will apply to some other cases of a less 
marked character) of actual alienation or insanity. And, 
as such, they may be correctly described as instances of 
the insanity of the Affections or Passions. 

The insanity of the passions is a state of mind some¬ 
what peculiar, even as compared with other forms of in¬ 
sanity. The powers of perception, in cases of insanity 
of the passions, are often in full and just exercise. The 
mind may possess, in a very considerable degree, its 
usual ability in comparing ideas and in deducing conclu¬ 
sions. The seat of the difficulty is not to be sought for 
in what are usually designated as the intellectual powers, 
in distinction from the sensitive nature, but in the passions 
alone. The victim of this mental disease does not stop 
to reason, reflect, and compare; but is borne forward to 
his purpose with a blind and often an irresistible impulse. 

Pinel mentions a mechanic in the asylum Bicetre, 
who was subject to this form of insanity. It was, as is 
frequently the case, intermittent. He knew when the 
paroxysms of passion were coming on, and even gave 
warnings to those who were exposed to its effects to make 
their escape. His powers of correctly judging remained 
unshaken, not only at other times, but even in the com¬ 
mission of the most violent and outrageous acts. He saw 
clearly their impropriety, but was unable to restrain him¬ 
self ; and, after the cessation of the paroxysms, was often 
filled with the deepest grief. 

§ 443. Of the mental disease termed hypochondriasis. 

The seat of the well-known mental disease termed 
Hypochondriasis, is to be sought for in a disordered state 
of the Sensibilities. It is, in fact, nothing more nor less 
than a state of deep depression, gloom, or melancholy. 
This is the fact; and we never apply the term hypochon¬ 
driasis to a state of the mind where such gloom or melan¬ 
choly does not exist; but it is nevertheless true, that the 
occasion or basis of the fact may sometimes be found in 
a disordered condition of some other part of the mind 
One or two concise statements will illustrate what we 
mean. 


R R 


470 DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 

One of the slighter forms of hypochondriasis can per¬ 
haps be traced to inordinate workings of the Imagination. 
The mind of the sufferer is fixed upon some unpromising 
and gloomy subject; probably one which has particular 
relation either to his present or future prospects. He gives 
it an undue place in his thoughts, dwelling upon it con¬ 
tinually. His imagination hovers over it, throwing a 
deeper shade on what is already dark. Thus the mind 
becomes disordered; it is broken off from its ordinary and 
rightful mode of action; and is no longer what it was, 
nor what nature designed it should be. 

There is another, and still more striking form of hypo¬ 
chondriasis, which is connected in its origin with an 
alienation of the power of belief. As in all other cases 
of hypochondriasis, the subject of it suffers much mental 
distress. He is beset with the most gloomy and distress¬ 
ing apprehensions, occasioned, not by exaggerated and 
erroneous notions in general, but by some fixed and inev¬ 
itable false belief.—One imagines that he has no soul; 
another, that his body is gradually but rapidly perishing; 
and a third, that he is converted into some other animal, 
or that he has been transformed into a plant. We are 
told in the Memoirs of Count Maurepas, that this last idea 
once took possession of the mind of one of the princes of 
Bourbon. So deeply was he infected with this notion, 
that he often went into his garden and insisted on being 
watered in common with the plants around him. Some 
have imagined themselves to be transformed into glass, 
and others have fallen into the still stranger folly of ima¬ 
gining themselves dead.—What has been said confirms 
our remark, that, although hypochondriasis is, in itself 
considered, seated in the sensibilities, yet its origin may 
sometimes be found in a disordered state of some other 
part of the mind. 

It is also sometimes the case, that this disease origi¬ 
nates in a violation of some form of sensitive action. It 
is not only, as its appropriate position, seated in the sen¬ 
sibilities, but it sometimes has its origin there. It is rela¬ 
ted of a certain Englishman, a man of generous and excel¬ 
lent character, that his life was once attempted by his 
brother with a pistol. He succeeded, however, in wrest- 


DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 471 

ing the pistol from his brother’s hand, and, on examina¬ 
tion, found it to be double charged with bullets. This 
transaction, as might be expected in the case of a person 
of just and generous sentiments, filled him with such hor¬ 
ror, and with such disgust for the character of man, that 
he secluded himself ever after from human society. He 
never allowed the visits even of his own children. It is 
certainly easy to see, that, under such circumstances, the 
sensibilities may receive such a shock as to leave the sub¬ 
ject of it in a state of permanent dissatisfaction and 
gloom. In other words, he may in this way and for such 
reasons become a confirmed hypochondriac. 

$ 444. Of intermissions of hypochondriasis, and of its remedies. 

The mental disease of hypochondriasis is always un¬ 
derstood to imply the existence of a feeling of gloom and 
depression; but this depressed feeling does not exist in 
all cases in the same degree. In all instances it is a 
source of no small unhappiness; but in some the wretch¬ 
edness is extreme. The greatest bodily pains are light 
in the comparison. It is worthy of remark, however, that 
the mental distress of hypochondriasis is, in some persons, 
characterized by occasional intermissions. An accidental 
remark, some sudden combination of ideas, a pleasant 
day, and various other causes, are found to dissipate the 
gloom of the mind. At such times there is not unfre- 
quently a high flow of the spirits, corresponding to the 
previous extreme depression.—As this disease, even when 
mitigated by occasional intermissions, is prodigal in evil 
results, it becomes proper to allude to certain remedies 
which have sometimes been resorted to. 

(1.) The first step towards remedying the evil is to in¬ 
fuse health and vigour into the bodily action, especially 
that of the nervous system. The nerves, it will be recol¬ 
lected, are the great medium of sensation, inasmuch as 
they constitute, under different modifications, the external 
senses. Now the senses are prominent sources of belief 
and knowledge. Consequently, when the nervous system 
(including, of course, the senses) is in a disordered state, 
it is not surprising that persons should have wrong sensa¬ 
tions and external perceptions, and, therefore, a wrong 




472 DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 

belief. If a man’s nerves are in such a state that he feels 
precisely as he supposes a man made of glass would feel, 
it is no great wonder, when we consider the constitution 
of the mind, that he should actually believe himself to be 
composed of that substance. But one of the forms of the 
disease in question is essentially founded on an erroneous 
but fixed belief of this kind. Hence, in restoring the 
bodily system to a right action, we shall correct the wrong 
belief if it be founded in the senses; and, in removing 
this, w T e may anticipate the removal of that deep-seated 
gloom which is characteristic of hypochondriasis.—(2.) 
As all the old associations of the hypochondriac have been 
more or less visited and tinctured by his peculiar malady, 
efforts should be made to break them up and remove them 
from the mind by changes in the objects with which he is 
most conversant, by introducing him into new society, or 
by travelling. By these means his thoughts are likely to 
be diverted, not only from the particular subject which 
has chiefly interested him, but a new impulse is given to 
the whole mind, which promises to interrupt and banish 
that fatal fixedness and inertness which had previously 
encumbered and prostrated it.—(3.) Whenever the mal¬ 
ady appears to be founded on considerations of a moral 
nature, the hypochondriasis may sometimes be removed, 
or at least alleviated, by the suggestions of counteracting 
moral motives. If, for instance, the despondency of mind 
has arisen from some supposed injury, it is desirable to 
suggest all well-founded considerations which may tend 
to lessen the sufferer’s estimate of the amount of the injury 
received. When the injury is very great and apparent, 
suggestions on the nature and duty of forgiveness may 
not be without effect.—But, whatever course may be ta¬ 
ken, it is desirable that the attention of the sufferer should 
be directed as little as possible to his disease, by any di¬ 
rect remarks upon it. It was a remark of Dr. Johnson, 
whose sad experience enabled him to judge, that conver¬ 
sation upon melancholy feeds it. Accordingly, he advi¬ 
sed Boswell, who, as well as himself, was subject to mel¬ 
ancholy of mind, “ never to speak of it to his friends nor 
in company.” 


DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 473 
§ 445. Disordered action of the passion of fear. 

The passion of fear, inasmuch as there are various ob¬ 
jects around us which are or may be dangerous, is ob¬ 
viously implanted in us for wise purposes. But it not 
unfrequently exhibits an irregular or disordered action. 
This disordered state of the affection may discover itself, 
when considered either in reference to the occasion on 
which it exists, or in reference to the degree in which it 
exists. In some cases, for instance, it is connected with 
objects which, in the view of reason and common sense, 
ought not to excite it. Some persons are afraid to he 
alone in the dark; it is exceedingly distressing to them. 
Others are afraid (so much so, perhaps, as to be thrown 
into convulsions by their presence) of a mouse, or a squir¬ 
rel, or an insect. 

Again, fear may exist with such an intensity as essen¬ 
tially to affect the mind, and even cause insanity. Prob¬ 
ably the power of this passion is not well understood. 
Certain it is, that terrible results have often followed from 
the attempts of persons, particularly of children, to excite 
it in others, even in sport. Many instances are on record 
of individuals who have been permanently and most seri¬ 
ously injured, either in mind or body, or both, by a sud¬ 
den fright. 

Sometimes, especially when connected with permanent 
causes, it gradually expands and strengthens itself, till it 
is changed into despair. The distinctive trait of Despair, 
in distinction from all other modifications of fear, is, that 
it excludes entirely the feeling of hope, which exists in 
connexion with fear in other cases. Despair may exist, 
therefore, in a greater or less degree, and with a greater 
or less amount of mental anguish, in accordance with the 
nature of the thing, whatever it is, which occasions it. 
i When oreat present or future interests are at stake, and 
the mind, in relation to those interests, is in a state of 
despair, the wretchedness which is experienced is neces¬ 
sarily extreme. 

$ 446. Perversions of the benevolent affections. 

There are some singular perversions of the benevolent 
affections which are worthy of notice here. It is not un- 
Rr2 







474 DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 

frequently the case, that persons in a state of mental al¬ 
ienation are entirely indifferent to, and sometimes they 
even hate, those whom at other times they love most sin¬ 
cerely and deeply. It is, perhaps, difficult to explain this, 
although it is practically important to know the fact.— 
Dr. Rush, in speaking of a singular apathy or torpor of 
the passions, which is sometimes found to exist, says: “ I 
was once consulted by a citizen of Philadelphia, who w r as 
remarkable for his strong affection for his wife and chil¬ 
dren when his mind was in a sound state, who was occa¬ 
sionally afflicted with this apathy, and, when under its 
influence, lost his affection for them all so entirely, that 
he said he could see them butchered before his eyes with¬ 
out feeling any distress, or even inclination to rise from 
his chair to protect them.”—(2.) There are other cases, 
where there seems to be not merely an extinction of the 
benevolent affection, but its positive conversion into ha¬ 
tred. The same philosophic physician mentions the case 
of a young lady who was confined as a lunatic in the 
Pennsylvania Hospital in the year 1802. One of the 
characteristics of her insanity was hatred for her father. 
She was gradually restored; and, for several weeks be¬ 
fore she was discharged from the Hospital, discovered all 
the marks of a sound mind, excepting the continuance of 
this unnatural feeling of hatred. On a certain day she 
acknowledged with pleasure a return of her filial attach¬ 
ment and affection, and soon after was discharged as 
cured.*—(3.) There are other cases where insanity is the 
indirect result of the mere intensity of the benevolent af¬ 
fections. In cases of this kind the affections are so strong, 
so intense, that they are unable to withstand the shock of 
sudden and great opposition and disappointments.—“ A 
peasant woman,” says Dr. Gall, “ became insane three 
times; the first at the death of her brother, the second 
at the death of her father, and the third at that of her 
mother. After she had recovered the third time she came 
to consult me. As she was very religious, she complain¬ 
ed to me of her unfortunate disposition to be afflicted, at 
the loss of persons who were dear to her, more than reli¬ 
gion permits; an evident proof that she had yielded to 
* Rush on the Diseases of the Mind, p. 255, 345. 


DISORDERED ACTION OF THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 475 

grief, although she had combated it by motives which 
were within her reach.” Pinel also mentions the case of 
a young man who became a violent maniac a short time 
after losing a father and mother whom he tenderly loved. 
It is true that in these cases the proximate cause of the 
insanity is sorrow or grief; but the remote cause, and 
that without which the unfortunate result would not have 
existed, is an unrestrained and excessive position of the 
benevolent affections.—It may be proper to add here, that 
sudden and strong feelings of joy have, in repeated in¬ 
stances, caused a permanent mental disorganization, and 
even death itself.—“ The son of the famous Leibnitz died 
from this cause, upon his opening an old chest and unex¬ 
pectedly finding in it a large quantity of gold. Joy, from 
the successful issue of political schemes or wishes, has 
often produced the same effect. Pope Leo X. died of joy, 
in consequence of hearing of a great calamity that had 
befallen the French nation. Several persons died from 
the same cause, Mr. Hume tells us, upon witnessing the 
restoration of Charles II. to the British throne; and it is 
well known the doorkeeper of Congress died of an apo¬ 
plexy, from joy, upon hearing the news of the capture of 
Lord Cornwallis and his army during the American rev¬ 
olutionary war.”* 


CHAPTER IV. 

DISORDERED ACTION OF THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 

§ 447. Nature of voluntary moral derangement. 

The moral, as well as the natural or pathematic Sensi¬ 
bilities, the Conscience as well as the Heart, may be the 
subject of a greater or less degree of disorder and aliena¬ 
tion. There are probably two leading forms, at least, of 
moral derangement, viz., voluntary, and natural or con¬ 
genital. _In regard to voluntary moral derangement, we 

remark,* as an interesting and practically important fact, 
* Rush on the Diseases of the Mind, p. 339. 





476 DISORDERED ACTION OF THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 

that man may virtually destroy his conscience. There is 
sound philosophy in the well-known passage of Juvenal, 
“ nemo repente fuit turpissimus.” The truth implied in 
this passage is unquestionably applicable to all persons, 
with the exception of those few cases where the moral 
derangement is natural or congenital. A man is not in 
the first instance turpissimus, or a villain, because his 
conscience makes resistance, and will not let him be so. 
But if the energies of the will are exercised in opposition 
to the conscience; if, on a systematic plan and by a per¬ 
manent effort, the remonstrances of conscience are un¬ 
heeded and its action repressed, its energies will be found 
to diminish, and its very existence will be put at hazard. 
There is no doubt that in this way the conscience may be 
so far seared as to be virtually annihilated. Multitudes 
have prepared themselves for the greatest wickedness, 
and have become, in fact, morally insane, by their own 
voluntary doing. There is a passage in Beaumont, in his 
“ King and no King,” which strikingly indicates the prog¬ 
ress of the mind in such cases. 

“ There is a method in man’s wickedness ; 

It grows up by degrees. I am not come 
So high as killing of myself; there are 
A hundred thousand sins ’twixt it and me, 

"Which I must do. I shall come to't at last. 1 * 

We say in such cases the conscience is virtually anni¬ 
hilated. And by this remark we mean that it is inert, 
inefficient, dormant, paralyzed. We do not mean that it 
is dead. The conscience never dies. Its apparent death 
is impregnated with the elements of a real and terrible 
resurrection. It seems to gather vivification and strength 
in the period of its inactivity; and, at the appointed time 
of its reappearance, inflicts a stern and fearful retribu¬ 
tion, not only for the crimes which are committed against 
others, but for the iniquity which has been perpetrated 
against itself. 

$ 448. Of accountability in connexion with this form of disordered 
conscience. 

If the moral sensibility, under the system of repression 
which has been mentioned, refuses to act, the question 
arises, whether, at such a time, a person is morally ac- 


DISORDERED ACTION OF THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 477 

countable for his conduct. As his conscience does not 
condemn him in what he does, is the transaction, what¬ 
ever its nature, a criminal one ? There can be but one 
answer to this question. If the individual is not con¬ 
demned by his conscience, it is the result of his own evil 
course. We may illustrate the subject by a case which 
is unhappily too frequent. A man who commits a crime 
in a state of drunkenness, may plead that he was not, at 
the time, aware of the guilt of his conduct. And this 
may be true. But he was guilty for placing himself in a 
situation where he knew he would be likely to injure 
others, or in some other way commit unlawful acts. His 
crime, instead of being diminished, is in fact increased. 
It is twofold. He is guilty of drunkenness, and he is 
guilty of everything evil, which he knew, or might have 
known, would result from his drunkenness. 

In like manner, a man is not at liberty to plead that he 
was not, in the commission of his crimes, condemned by 
conscience, if it be the fact that he has, by a previous 
process, voluntarily perverted or hardened the conscience. 
On the contrary, it would be fair to say, as in the case 
of drunkenness, that he has increased his guilt; for he 
has added to the guilt of the thing done, the antecedent 
and still greater crime of aiming a blow at the mind, of 
striking at the very life of the soul. Practically he is not 
self-condemned, for the mere reason that he has paraly¬ 
zed the principle by which the sentence of self-condem¬ 
nation is pronounced. But in the eye of immutable jus¬ 
tice there is not only no diminution of his guilt, but it is 
inexpressibly enhanced by the attempts to wiUTdcT, if we 
may so express it, the principle which, more than any¬ 
thing else, constitutes the dignity and glory of man’s na¬ 
ture. (See § 403.) 

§ 449. Of natural or congenital moral derangement. 

The other form of moral derangement is natural or 
congenital. We do not know that we are authorized to 
say that men are by nature, in any case whatever, abso¬ 
lutely destitute of a conscience; nor, on the other hand, 
have we positive grounds for asserting that this is not the 
case. There is no more inconsistency or impossibility in 


478 DISORDERED ACTION OF THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 

a man’s coming into the world destitute of a conscience 
than there is in his being born without the powers of 
memory, comparison, and reasoning, which we find to be 
the case in some idiots. But certain it is, that there are 
some men who appear to have naturally a very enfeebled 
conscience ; a conscience which but very imperfectly ful¬ 
fils its office; and who, in this respect at least, appear to 
be constituted very differently from the great body of 
their fellow-men. They exhibit an imbecility, or, if the 
expression may be allowed, an idiocy of conscience, which 
unquestionably diminishes, in a very considerable degree, 
their moral accountability. A number of those writers 
who have examined the subject of Insanity have taken 
this view, and have given instances in support of it. 

“ In the course of my life,” says Dr. Rush, “ I have 
been consulted in three cases of the total perversion of the 
moral faculties. One of them was in a young man ; the 
second in a young woman, both of Virginia; and the third 
was in the daughter of a citizen of Philadelphia. The 
last was addicted to every kind of mischief. Her wick¬ 
edness had no intervals while she was awake, except 
when she was kept busy in some steady and difficult em¬ 
ployment.” He refers also to instances in other writers. 

Dr. Haslam, in his Observations on Madness, has given 
two decided cases of moral derangement. One of these 
was a lad about ten years of age. Some of the traits 
which he exhibited were as follows. He early showed 
an impatience and irritability of temper, and became so 
mischievous and uncontrollable that it was necessary to 
appoint a person to watch over him. He gave answers 
only to such questions as pleased him, and acted in op¬ 
position to every direction. “ On the first interview I had 
with him,” says Dr. Haslam, “ he contrived, after two or 
three minutes’ acquaintance, to break a window and tear 
the frill of my shirt. He was an unrelenting foe to all 
china, glass, and crockery-ware. Whenever they came 
within his reach, he shivered them instantly. In walking 
the street, the keeper was compelled to take the wall, as 
he uniformly broke the windows if he could get near 
them; and this operation he performed so dexterously, 
and with such safety to himself, that he never cut his 


DISORDERED ACTION OF THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 479 

fingers. To tear lace and destroy the finer textures of 
female ornament seemed to gratify him exceedingly, and 
he seldom walked out without finding an occasion of in¬ 
dulging this propensity. He never became attached to 
any inferior animal, a benevolence so common to the gen¬ 
erality of children. To these creatures his conduct was 
that of the brute; he oppressed the feeble, and avoided 
the society of those more powerful than himself. .Con¬ 
siderable practice had taught him that he was the cat’s 
master; and, whenever this luckless animal approached 
him he plucked out its whiskers with wonderful rapidity; 
to use his own language, ‘ I must have her beard off .’ 
After this operation he commonly threw the creature on 
the fire or through the window. If a little dog came 
near him, he kicked it; if a large one, he would not no¬ 
tice it. When he was spoken to, he usually said, ‘ I do 
not choose to answer.’ When he perceived any one who 
appeared to observe him attentively, he always said, 
« Now I will look unpleasant.’ The usual games of chil¬ 
dren afforded him no amusement; whenever boys were 
at play he never joined them; indeed, the most singular 
part of his character was, that he appeared incapable of 
forming a friendship with any one; he felt no considera¬ 
tion for sex, and would as readily kick or bite a girl as a 
boy. Of any kindness shown him he was equally insen¬ 
sible ; he would receive an orange as a present, and af¬ 
terward throw it in the face of the donor.” 

This unfortunate lad seems sometimes to have been 
sensible of his melancholy condition. When, on a certain 
occasion, he was conducted through an insane hospital, 
and a mischievous maniac was pointed out to him who was 
more strictly confined than the rest, he said to his attend¬ 
ant, “ This would be the right place for me.” He often 
expressed a wish to die; and gave as a reason, “ That 
God had not made him like other children.” 

$ 450. Of moral accountability in cases of natural or congenital moral 
derangement. 

The question recurs here, also, whether persons who 
are the subjects of a natural or congenital moral derange¬ 
ment are morally accountable, and in what degree. If 


480 DISORDERED ACTION OF THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 

there is naturally an entire extinction of the moral sense, 
as in some cases of Idiocy there is an entire extinction of 
the reasoning power, which, although it may not frequent¬ 
ly happen, is at least a supposable case, there is no moral 
accountability. A person in that situation can have no 
idea of what right and wrong are ; nor can he be con¬ 
scious of doing either right or wrong in any given case; 
and, consequently, being without either merit or demer¬ 
it in the moral sense of the terms, he is not the proper 
subject of reward and punishment. He is to be treated 
on the principles that are applicable to idiots and insane 
persons generally. 

In other cases where the mental disorder is not so great, 
but there are some lingering rays of moral light, some 
feeble capability of moral vision, the person is to be judg¬ 
ed, if it is possible to ascertain what it is, according to 
what is given him. If he has but one moral talent, it is not 
to be presumed that the same amount of moral responsibil¬ 
ity rests upon him as upon another who possesses ten. 
The doctrine which requires men, considered as subjects 
of reward and punishment, to be treated alike, without 
regard to those original diversities of structure which may 
exist in all the departments of the mind, not only tends 
to confound right and wrong, but is abhorrent to the dic¬ 
tates of benevolence. Many individuals, through a mis¬ 
understanding of this important subject, have suffered un¬ 
der the hands of the executioner, who, on the principles 
of religion and strict justice, should have been encircled 
onl) in the arms of compassion, long-suffering, and charity. 


THE END. 



UPHAM’S MENTAL PHILOSOPHY, 

EMBRACING 

“the intellect,” “the sensibilities,” and “the will,” 

IN THREE VOLUMES. 

ALSO, AN ABRIDGMENT OF THE SAB1E IN ONE VOLUME. 


The undersigned respectfully request the attention of the public to the 
philosophical works which they now take the liberty to present to them. 

It is neither their interest nor their wish to express their sense of the 
value of these works in any undue and exaggerated terms; but they 
suppose that, as publishers, they may be permitted to commend them to 
the notice of the public, at least so far as they deserve it. It has been 
the object of the author of these volumes, by a long and careful induction 
of facts, to give a connected and full view of the mental operations. He 
has aimed at nothing less than the true philosophy of the human mind. 

Of the intrinsic difficulty of this undertaking, we suppose there can be 
but little or no difference of opinion. And as to the manner in which 
the author has acquitted himself in it, the subsequent testimonials, com- j 
ing from men standing high in the public estimation, will enable the 
reader to judge. The dernancj/for a system of mental philosophy is ur¬ 
gent. The teachers in our various seminaries all agree, that a system 
of education, without some knowledge of mental philosophy, cannot be 
considered complete. On the contrary, they seem to regard the knowl¬ 
edge of the human mind as in some respects more important than any 
other form of knowledge. And we have no doubt that they will cor¬ 
dially welcome any system which gives evidence in its preparation of 
learning, good judgment, and candour. 

Of the qualifications of Professor Upham for the great task (the results 
of which, in a stereotype, uniform, and cheap edition, we now present 
to the public), as well as of the works themselves, we might leave the 
subsequent testimonials to speak. They say all we could wish them to 
say ; and the reader can judge whether the writers of them, filling, as 
they do, very high and responsible stations, are worthy of credence. But 
we venture to intimate to the public, that the most satisfactory testimo¬ 
nial is to be found in the works themselves. It was our intention to 
point out some things by which these volumes are characterized, and by 
which they are favourably distinguished from other works ; but we con¬ 
clude, on the whole, to leave this to the examination of the reader. 
We think we run no hazard in saying, that those who will read and 
study them carefully, will see no reasonable and sufficient ground for 
dissenting from the favourable aspect in which they appear in the follow¬ 
ing statements. Harper & Brothers, 

New-York , 1840. _ 82 CLIFF-STREET._ 





UPHAM’S SERIES OF PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS 

FOR ACADEMIES AND COLLEGES. 


From Rev. Leonard Woods, D.D., 

I Professor of Theology in the The¬ 
ological Seminary at Andover. 

As I understand that you have it in 
| contemplation to publish a new edition of 
I the several works on Mental Philosophy 
by Professor Upham, I take the liberty 
to say, that I regard them as among the 
best and most popular works on the va¬ 
rious subjects which he has treated. He 
is a charming writer, and his views are 
well expressed and well guarded, and 
are adapted to be extensively useful at 
the present day. His Abridgment is 
very much liked by those teachers who 
have used it. Mr. Coleman, principal 
of the High School, or, as it is called, the 
Teachers' Seminary, in this place, says, 
he finds it much more intelligible to 
young men, and much more com¬ 
plete, than any text-book he has used. 
And his judgment is worthy of confi¬ 
dence. The next edition is to receive still 
farther improvements. I hope you will 
be encouraged and sustained in this un¬ 
dertaking by a very extensive patron¬ 
age from an enlightened community. 

Yours respectfully, 
Leonard Woods. 

To the Messrs. Harper. 

From Rev. Moses Stuart, Profes¬ 
sor of Sacred Literature in the 
Theological Seminary at Andover. 

Andover, Dec. 4, 1839. 

I have read with much satisfaction 
Professor Upham’s works on Intellect¬ 
ual Philosophy and on the Will. The 
tone and manner of these books must be 
pleasing to all who love calm, dispas¬ 
sionate, and accurate investigation, and 
moderation in defending one’s own opin¬ 
ions and canvassing those of others. I 
have no hesitation in saying, that I re¬ 
gard Professor Upham’s books as giv¬ 
ing the best views of the subjects named 
which we have in the English language, 
and as worthy of being read and studied 
in the schools and colleges of our country. 
Even those who may differ from him in 
opinion,will feel no disposition to indulge 
unkind feelings towards so sincere and 


candid an inquirer after truth. Most 
sincerely do 1 wish ample success to the 
author and the publishers of the works 
in question; especially at a time when 
the public mind is allured by books on 
these subjects in many respects dreamy 
and unintelligible to the great mass of 
readers. 

M. Stuart. 

From Rev. William Cogswell, 
D.D., Secretary of the American 
Education Society. 

I fully concur in the opinion of Pro¬ 
fessor Stuart, expressed in the prece¬ 
ding certificate, and could add more in 
favour of the works named were it ne¬ 
cessary. 

William Cogswell. 
Boston, Dec. 6, 1839. 

From Rev. S. Luckey, D.D., editor 
of the Christian Advocate and 
Journal, Quarterly Review, &c. 

To Messrs. Harper. 
Gentlemen, 

I am happy to learn that you are about 
to publish a stereotype edition of Pro¬ 
fessor Upham's works. To this gentle¬ 
man the literary public are much indebt¬ 
ed for his “ Elements of Mental Phi¬ 
losophy," a work which was greatly 
needed as a text-book in our colleges and 
academies at the time it was first pub¬ 
lished. It is now used, I believe, in 
most of our literary institutions; and 1 
hesitate not to say, it is better adapted 
to the wants of students, in the science 
of which it treats, than any other work 
extant. It cannot but be satisfactory to 
the friends of science, that the worthy 
author has prepared an edition of his ex¬ 
cellent work, with additions and improve¬ 
ments, to be issued in a more perma¬ 
nent form. Of his Treatise on the 
Will I cannot speak with the same con¬ 
fidence, not having read it; although I 
have heard it well spoken of by compe¬ 
tent judges. 

S. Luckey. 
Methodist Book-Room, ) 

New-York, 20 th Dec., 1839. ) 











upham’s series of philosophical works. 


Commendatory Letters — continued. 


From Rev. R. E. Pattison, D.D., 
President of Waterville College, 
Maine. 

I have examined with care the work on 
Mental Philosophy, in two volumes , by 
Professor Upham, of Bowdoin College, 
and it is with pleasure that I express the 
opinion that the work will contribute 
much to the successful study of that 
difficult but eminently useful department 
of knowledge. It has the advantage 
over arty other one work which has fall¬ 
en under my observation, that of having 
comprehended the subject. We have 
many profound treatises on separate por¬ 
tions of mental philosophy ; and those, 
it may be, the most important; but I 
know of none which surveys the whole 
field but this. I ought to add also that 
its moral influence is exceedingly pure 
and healthful. 

R. E. Pattison. 


From the late Wilbur Fisk, D.D., 
President of the Wesleyan Univer¬ 
sity, Middletown, Conn. 

... Permit me to say, that I have read 
the Treatise [on the Will ] with a great 
deal of satisfaction. It is certainly a 
much better analysis of this difficult sub¬ 
ject, in my judgment, than anything I 
have before seen in relation to it. I might, 
if this were a proper time, it is true, 
make some queries on some of the points 
presented in the work ; but, on the whole, 
I cannot but believe it will go far towards 
harmonizing the hitherto discordant 
views connected with this subject... . 

W. Fisk. 


From Rev. Henry Chase, Pastor 
of the Mariner’s Church in the 
city of New-York. 

Gentlemen, 

Though many able treatises on men¬ 
tal philosophy had been published from 
time to time, more or less adapted to ad¬ 
vance the science of which they treat, 
yet a work which would present in out¬ 
line and in sufficient detail a complete 
and systematic view of the powers and 
operations of the mind, had long been a 
desideratum. Such a work was greatly 
needed, as well for the private student 
and man of leisure as for our colleges 
and academies, and it has at length ap¬ 
peared in the “Elements of Mental 
Philosophy ,” by Professor Upham. 
This treatise merits the high estimation 


in which it is held. The classification 
of the mental states, both general and 
subordinate, and the arrangement of the 
several parts and subdivisions, are true 
to nature, and present a full view of the 
entire subject without confusion. The 
arguments and illustrations are forcible 
and pertinent, the style is perspicuous 
and pleasing, and the whole evinces ex¬ 
tensive research and patient investiga¬ 
tion. Whoever attentively examines 
this work will find that it is character¬ 
ized by accurate observation, discrimi¬ 
nating analysis, logical deduction, and 
remarkable freedom from bias. The 
spirit of candour and the love of truth 
pervade it. It has passed through three 
editions, and the author is now revising 
it, together with his Treatise on the 
Will, and preparing the whole for a uni¬ 
form stereotype edition. Every friend 
of mental science must feel under great 
obligation to Professor Upham for his 
valuable work, and wish him success in 
its publication. 

I am, gentlemen, 

Yours with great respect, 
Henry Chase. 
New-York, Dec. 21, 1839. 


From Rev. N. Banos, D.D. 

So far as I have examined the work, 

I fully concur in the above recommenda¬ 
tion, and therefore wish the author and | 
publishers success in issuing this new 
edition. 

N. Bangs. 

From Rev. Wm. C. Larrabee, A.M., 
Principal of the Wesleyan Semi¬ 
nary at Readfield, Maine. 

... I am highly gratified to learn that 
you are about to publish Professor Up- 
ham’s series of works on Mental Philos¬ 
ophy. I have used the former editions 
of his Mental Philosophy for some time 
past in this seminary, and am prepared, 
from intimate and familiar acquaintance 
with the work, acquired in the recitation- 
room as well as in my study, to speak 
of it in the highest terms. There is 
no work extant in that department so 
well adapted to the purposes of a text¬ 
book for schools and colleges. The 
work needs only to be better known to 
teachers to have its merits properly ap¬ 
preciated. 

Yours respectfully, 

W. C. Larrabee. 






















upham’s series of philosophical works. 


Commendatory Notices — continued. 


From Rev. M. Caldwell, Profes¬ 
sor of Metaphysics and Political 
Economy in Dickinson College. 

Messrs. Harper, 

Learning that you have it in contem¬ 
plation to give to the public an edition 
of Upham’s Mental Philosophy , I deem 
it but due to the merits of that work, to 
express to you my strong hopes that 
this arrangement will be carried into ef¬ 
fect. The plan of the work being per¬ 
spicuous and simple throughout, and its 
entire freedom from that abstruseness 
ivhich is but too often considered a ne¬ 
cessary element in metaphysical specu¬ 
lations, combine to adapt it to its inten¬ 
ded uses; nor is its eminently practical 
learning a less important recommenda¬ 
tion. 

As a text-book in Mental Philoso¬ 
phy, I am assured it has no equal; and 
anything which may be made to contrib¬ 
ute to the wider circulation of such a 
work, and which may thus either extend 
a taste for such studies, or tend to satis¬ 
fy the taste already widely diffused, can¬ 
not but be hailed with pleasure by all 
who feel an interest in the progress of 
general science, and especially by those 
who, with me, recognise the pre-eminent¬ 
ly practical character of that knowledge 
which pertains to the human mind. 
And no one, it seems to me, %vho has ob¬ 
served the late tendency of the public 
mind, can doubt that this valuable ser¬ 
vice which you have it in your power to 
render to the cause of Mental Science 
would be liberally rewarded. 

M. Caldwell. 
Dickinson College, Dec. 25 , 1839 . 

From William H. Allen, A.M., 
Professor of Natural Sciences in 
Dickinson College. 

From a careful perusal of Professor 
Upham’s Work on Mental Philoso¬ 
phy, I do not hesitate to add my un¬ 
qualified testimony in its favour to the 
foregoing recommendation of Professor 
CaldwelL 

William H. Allen. 

From Rev. Enoch Pond, D.D., Pro¬ 
fessor of Theology in the Theolo¬ 
gical Seminary at Bangor, Maine. 
Remarking on the Treatise on the 
Will, he says, “ Without affirming that 
we agree with Professor Upham in 
every minute point of speculation, we 
have no hesitation in saying that his 


work is one of great value to the literary 
and religious community. It indicates 
throughout, not only deep and varied 
research, but profound and laborious 
thought, and is a fidl, lucid, and able 
discussion of an involved and embarras¬ 
sing subject. The style, though gener¬ 
ally diff use, is always perspicuous and 
often elegant; and the work, as a whole, 
will add much to the reputation of its 
author, and entitle him to rank among 
the ablest metaphysicians of our coun¬ 
try.” 

From a Review of the Treatise on the 

Will in the American Bliblical Re¬ 
pository. 

. . . “ We shall rejoice to see the 
Philosophy of the Will made a dis¬ 
tinct part of the course of study in 
our colleges; and we know of no 
work that can lay equal claims to be 
employed as a text-book with this 
Treatise of Professor Upham.” . . . 

... “ It unites the philosophical with 
the practical, abounds in interesting 
facts and illustrations, is written in 
a style flowing, easy, and intelligible, 
and presents a systematic, thorough, 
and satisfactory view of the whole 
subject m all its various relations 
and bearings. We recommend it 
heartily to all the lovers of sound 
philosophy and pure morality.” . . . 

Another and subsequent article in 
the Repository, speaking of the au¬ 
thor, says, “ He has studied with 
diligence the standard works in our 
language and the Psychological sys¬ 
tems of the German and French 
schools. He has pursued his inves¬ 
tigations, not as a partisan, but as a 
calm and candid inquirer after truth. 
His system, therefore, is not a copy 
of any ether, but, without any ap¬ 
parent effort at novelty, is strongly 
marked with original thought. His 
inquiries are conducted in a spirit, 
which, without exciting needless 
controversy, is well suited to advance 
the cause of Mental Science.” 

From the Christian Advocate. 

. . . “Professor Upham is a man 
of a noble and truly catholic spirit, 
who has nothing so much at heart as 
truth, sound morality, and vital piety. 
These works are the fruits of many 
years’labour; and they prove their 
author to be a cautious and profound 
thinker, a perspicuous and eloquent 
writer.”...—V. 





















upham’s series of philosophical works. 


Commendatory Notices — continued. 


From the New• York Review, January, 
1840. 

.. . Professor Upham has brought 
together the leading views of the best 
writers on the most important topics 
of mental science, and exhibited them, 
as well as the conclusions which he 
himself adopts, with great good judg¬ 
ment, candour, clearness, and meth¬ 
od. Mr. Upham is a calm and cau¬ 
tious thinker and writer; and we 
find no reason to differ from the sub¬ 
stance of his views on almost all the 
subjects he has treated. We do not 
think that we have any works for 
higher instruction in this department, 
which are perfectly what they should 
be; out of all the systematic treati¬ 
ses in use, we consider the volumes 
of Mr. Upham by far the best that 
w r e have. With these volumes, 
together with Locke’s Essay and 
Cousin’s Critical Examination con¬ 
tained in the Elements of Psycholo¬ 
gy, in his hands, the student, by the 
aid of a thorough teacher, may gain a 
complete systematic view of the lead¬ 
ing principles of the science. 

From the New-York Observer. 

. . . Among the characteristics of 
this system of philosophy, we may 
enumerate : 

1. The fact that it is Christian , not 
in any narrow or sectarian, but in the 
broad and exalted sense. In other 
words, it is decidedly serious and 
evangelical in its spirit. 

2. It. is eminently inductive and 
eclectic. The object of the writer 
is evidently truth, and truth in its 
simplest, and, consequently, most 
impressive forms. Its constant ap¬ 
peals to consciousness, and its trains 
of accumulative evidence are such, 
that the mind can find its way on¬ 
ward with a degree of safety and sat¬ 
isfaction rarely to be found in ordi¬ 
nary trains of moral reasoning. 

3. It embraces all the departments 
of Mind, differing in this respect from 
other systems of philosophy ; never¬ 
theless, its several parts seem to har¬ 
monize with each other. The three¬ 
fold view of the mind, adopted as the 
basis, viz., the Intellect, Sensibilities, 
and Will, greatly facilitates this re¬ 
sult. Each volume is devoted to 
one of these deDartments, and is a 
treatise by itself/ And yet they are 


so related to each other, that the im¬ 
portant idea of the mind’s essential 
unity is never lost sight of. All the 
volumes, however, are essential to a 
full view of the mind, and they pre¬ 
sent such a view as will greatly as¬ 
sist the student in his self-knowledge 
and self-culture. 

4. Intimately connected with this 
last topic is the simplicity and natu¬ 
ralness, if the word may be allowed, 
of the subordinate classifications, and 
the use of terms to indicate them. A 
great point is thus gained. One is 
not obliged to master three or four 
volumes to learn the author’s use of 
terms, or the things which they sig¬ 
nify. The study of philosophy in 
these volumes will be interesting to 
multitudes who would turn away in 
discouragement or disgust from some 
authors who have written on the sub¬ 
ject. This is manifest from the fact, 
that in several colleges and acade¬ 
mies the work is now studied with 
deep and growing interest. 

5. The influence of the work on 
education will be auspicious It lays 
a foundation for intelligible notions 
and practices on this subject. It in¬ 
dicates the proper direction and cul¬ 
ture of the appetites, propensities, 
and affections, no less than the intel¬ 
lectual powers. It shows very clear¬ 
ly the proper training of the Moral 
Sense and the Will. In these points 
of view we regard Mr. Upham’s 
books as one of the most important 
helps for teachers that can be put 
into their hands. 

6. The prominent position given 
in this philosophical system to the 
moral sense, involving as it does the 
relation of the moral sense to the 
intellect, and especially to the rea¬ 
soning power, from which, however, 
it is cautiously distinguished, is a 
very interesting feature. And con¬ 
nected as this view is with the found¬ 
ation of obligation and the “ immu¬ 
tability of moral distinctions,” it can¬ 
not. fail to excite attention. 

But we forbear to specify particu¬ 
lars, and must refer our readers to 
the works themselves with this sin¬ 
gle remark, that they may feel as¬ 
sured that the opinions expressed by 
the author have been carefully weigh¬ 
ed, and may well deserve examina¬ 
tion before they are strongly or hast¬ 
ily rejected. 









PUBLISHED BY HARPER AND BROTHERS, NEW-YORK. 


ANTHON’S SERIES OF CLASSICAL WORKS. 

The following works, already published, may be regarded as specimens of the 
whole series, which will consist of about thirty volumes. They are all bound in the 
most durable and tasteful manner, and are for sale at reasonable prices by the prin¬ 
cipal booksellers throughout the United States. 

Sallust’s Jugurthinf, War and 
Conspiracy of Catiline, with 
an English Commentary, and Geo- 


First Latin Lessons, containing 
the most important Parts of the 
Grammar of the Latin Language, 
together with appropriate Exer¬ 
cises in the translating and writing 
of Latin, for the Use of Beginners. 
12mo. 

First Greek Lessons, containing 
the most important Parts of the 
Grammar of the Greek Language, 
together with appropriate Exer¬ 
cises in the translating and writing 
of Greek, for the Use of Beginners. 
12mo. 

A Grammar of the Greek Lan¬ 
guage, for the Use of Schools and 
Colleges. 12mo. 

A System of Greek Prosody and 
Metre, for the Use of Schools 
and Colleges; together with the 
Choral Scanning of the Prome¬ 
theus Vinctus oT Aeschylus, and 
the Ajax and CEdipus Tyrannus of 
Sophocles; to which are append¬ 
ed Remarks on the Indo-Germanic 
Analogies. 12mo. 

Caesar’s Commentaries on the 
Gallic War ; and the first Book 
of the Greek Paraphrase; with 
English Notes, critical and explan¬ 
atory, Plans of Battles, Sieges, 
&c., and Historical, Geographical, 
and Archaeologicallndexes. Map, 
Portrait, &c. 12mo. 


graphical and Historical Indexes. 
Ninth Edition, corrected and en¬ 
larged. 12mo. Portrait. 

Select Orations of Cicero, with 
English Notes, critical and explana¬ 
tory, and Historical, Geographical, 
and Legal Indexes. A new Edi¬ 
tion, with Improvements. 12mo. 
With a Portrait. 

The Works of Horace, with Eng¬ 
lish Notes, critical and explana¬ 
tory. New Edition, with correc¬ 
tions and improvements. 12mo. 

Jacobs’s Greek Reader. With 
Notes, critical and explanatory. A 
New Edition. 12rno. 

A Classical Dictionary, contain¬ 
ing an account of all the Proper 
Names mentioned in Ancient Au¬ 
thors, and intended to elucidate 
all the important points connected 
with the Geography, History, Biog¬ 
raphy, Archaeology, and Mythol¬ 
ogy of the Greeks and Romans, 
together with a copious Chrono¬ 
logical Table, and an Account of 
the Coins, Weights, and Measures 
of the Ancients, with Tabular Val¬ 
ues of the same. By Charles An- 
thon, LL.D. In one volume, royal 
8vo. (Nearly ready.) 


The above editions of the Classical authors are based on the latest and 
most accurate texts, and are accompanied by English Commentaries, con¬ 
taining everything requisite for accurate preparation on the part of the stu¬ 
dent and a correct understanding of the author. 

The publishers take the liberty of adding, that all of the above works 
have been republished in England and Scotland. Some of them, indeed, 
have already passed through four editions. They are republished under 
the superintendence of that eminent scholar, James Boyd, LL.D., one of 
the masters in the High School in Edinburgh, who says, “ In superintend¬ 
ing the publication, I have not felt myself warranted to make any alteration on the 
text, as given by Professor Anthon, nor to mutilate, by the slightest omission, his 
admirable Explanatory Notes." 

IC? A more detailed view of the plan of the series, &c., will be found 
on the next page. 






a nth on’s series of classical works 

FOR SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES. 


In presenting the volumes of this series, as far as it has been comple¬ 
ted, to the notice of the public, the subscribers beg leave to say a few 
words respecting its general features, and the advantages that are to re¬ 
sult from it both to students and instructers. 

The plan proposed is to give editions of all the authors usually read in 
our schools and college?, together with such elementary and subsidiary 
works as may be needed by the classical student either at the commence¬ 
ment, or at particular stages, of his career. 

The editions of the Classical authors themselves will be based on the 
latest and most accurate texts, and will be accompanied by English com¬ 
mentaries, containing everything requisite for accurate preparation on 
the part of the student and a correct understanding of the author. The 
fear entertained by some instructers, lest too copious an array of notes 
may bribe the student into habits of intellectual sloth, will be found to be 
altogether visionary. That part of the series which contains the text¬ 
books for schools must, in order to be at all useful, have a more ex¬ 
tensive supply of annotations than the volumes intended for college lec¬ 
tures ; and when these last make their appearance, the system of com¬ 
menting adopted in them will not fail to meet with the approbation of all. 

The advantages, then, which this series promises to confer are the 
following : the latest and best texts ; accurate commentaries, putting the 
student and instructer in possession of the opinions of the best philolo¬ 
gists ; together with all such subsidiary information as may serve, not 
only to throw light upon the meaning of the author, but also to give 
rise in the young student to habits of correct thinking and to the for¬ 
mation of a correct taste. 

Many of the works at present used in our Classical schools are either 
reprints of antiquated editions, swarming with errors, not merely in the 
typography, but in the matter itself; or else they are volumes, fair to 
the view, indeed, as far as manual execution is concerned, but either 
supplied with meager and unsatisfactory commentaries, or without any 
commentaries at all. These are the works that drive students to the 
use of translations, and thus mar the fairest prospects of youthful 
scholarship, producing an infinitely stronger habit of intellectual in¬ 
dolence than the most copious commentary could engender. Indeed, 
to place this matter in its proper light, and to show, within a very 
brief compass, how much good the projected series is about to ac¬ 
complish, it may be sufficient to state, that the printed translations o( 
those authors whose works have been thus far published in the series 
meet now with a much less ready sale than formerly; and are seldom, 
if ever, seen in the hands of those whose instructers have the good 
sense and judgment to give a decided preference to the volumes edited 
by Professor Anthon. 

The publishers take the liberty to subjoin a few of the communica¬ 
tions relative to the published volumes of the series, which they have 
received from gentlemen of high classical reputation in different parts of 
the country. 

Harper & Brothers, 

1Yew-York , May, 1839. 82 clifp-street. 












ANTHON’S SERIES OF CLASSICAL WORKS 

FOR SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES. 


From H. Humphrey, D.D., Presi¬ 
dent of Amherst College, at Am¬ 
herst, Mass. 

1 am very happy to see that you have 
undertaken to furnish uniform editions 
of the Latin classics for the use of our 
grammar schools and higher seminaries 
of learning. Professor Anthon deserves 
and will receive the thanks of the public 
for the labour which he has so judicious¬ 
ly and successfully bestowed upon Sal¬ 
lust, Caesar, and Cicero. The explan¬ 
atory notes or commentaries are more co¬ 
pious and comprehensive than those of 
any other edition I have seen, and much 
better adapted to the wants of young stu¬ 
dents. Among the most valuable of 
these notes are those which divert atten¬ 
tion to the beaulif ul uses of the moods 
arul tenses, and explain the delicate 
shades of meaning and peculiar beauties 
that depend upon them, which our lan¬ 
guage often expresses imperfectly and 
with difficulty, and vthich young learn¬ 
ers rarely regard, 'l'he explanations of 
the force and meaning of the particles 
are also very useful. 

The historical, geographical, and oth¬ 
er indexes are also highly valuable, fur¬ 
nishing the student, as they do, with fe¬ 
licitous illustrations of the text,andmuch 
general information. 

The text seems to be settled with much 
care and ability. The editions adopted 
as the basis or referred to as authority 
are those in the highest repute among 
scholars. The typographical execution 
is 'Very fine, and this is a high merit. 

I he wretched reprints of foreign editions 
of the classics, got up in cheap offices, 
on wretched paper, with incompetent 
proof-readers and no editors, to which, 
until within a very few years, our stu¬ 
dents have been universally condemned, 
have, by taking them young, been as 
successful in making them uncertain and 
inaccurate scholars as if that had been 
one of the main objects of the publishers. 
School books of all kinds, instead of be¬ 
ing the worst (as they often are), should 
be the most caref ully printed books we 
have. 

H. Humphrey. 


From the Rt. Rev. Bishop M‘Il- 
vaine, President of Kenyon Col¬ 
lege, at Gambier, Ohio. 

/ anticipate the greatest benefits to our 
schools and colleges from the admirable 
edition of the classics which you are now 
publishing, under the superintendence 
and illustrated by the cojnous and learn¬ 
ed notes of Professor Anthon. What 
■your accomplished editor has aimed at 
in his Horace, Ccesar, and other volumes 
of the series, few can have been much 
connected with classical institutions in 
this country without learning to be pre¬ 
cisely the one needful thing to their stu¬ 
dents. The object is most satisfactorily 
attained. The needed books we have, 
so far as your series has yet been pub¬ 
lished ; and as to what are yet to come, 
we have learned from what we have, if / 1 
may use the words of one of your authors, 
quae a summa virtute sumrnoque in- 
genio expectanda sunt, expectare. 
Wishing you the most abundant encour- i 
agement in your important enterprise, I 
remain your obedient servant, 

Chas. P. M'Ilyaine. 


From William A. Duer, LL.D., 
President of Columbia College, in 
the City of New-York. 

Prom the manner in which this under¬ 
taking has been so far executed, as well 
as from the established character and 
reputation of Professor Anthon as a 
scholar, his experience as an instructer, 
and the accuracy and judgment previous¬ 
ly evinced by him as an editor and com¬ 
mentator, I can entertain no doubt of the 
success of the enterprise, so far as his 
editorial labours and your own skill and 
experience as publishers are concerned ; 
and I trust that, from the increasing 
value of classical studies in the estima¬ 
tion of the public, this juaicious and spir¬ 
ited effort to facilitate and promote so im¬ 
portant a branch of education will be 
duly appreciated and liberally rewarded. 

I remain, gentlemen, 

1 our obedient servant , 

W. A. Duer. 






















anthon’s series of classical works. 


Letters of Recommendation — continued. 


From the Rev. E. Nott, D.D., Pres¬ 
ident of Union College at Sche¬ 
nectady, N. Y. 

The Jurnishing of our schools and 
colleges with accurate and uniform edi¬ 
tions of the Classical authors in use, 
accompanied by a useful body of com¬ 
mentary, maps, illlustrations, cf'C., is an 
undertaking worthy alike of commenda¬ 
tion and of patronage. The competency 
of Professor Anthonfor the editorial su¬ 
pervision assigned him, is well known to 
me. The whole design meets my entire 
approbation, and you are quite at liberty 
to make use of my name in the further¬ 
ance of its execution. 

Very respectfully, 

Eliphalet Nott. 

From the Rev. F. Wayland, D.D., 
President of Brown University at 
Providence, R. I. 

1 have not been able, owing to the pres¬ 
sure of my engagements, to examine the 
above works with any degree of accuracy. 
I however beg leave to thank you for the 
volumes, and cheerfully bear testimony 
to the distinguished scholarship of their 
editor. No classical scholar of our 
country enjoys a higher reputation, and 
I know of no one in whose labours more 
decided confidence may be reposed. 

Yours truly, 

F. Wayland. 

From the Rev. John P. Durbin, 
A.M., President of Dickinson Col¬ 
lege at Carlisle, Penn. 

For some months past my attention 
has been directed to the series of Classi¬ 
cal works now in the course of publication 
from your press, edited by Professor An¬ 
thon. I can with confidence recommend 
them as the best editions of the several 
works which have appeared in our coun¬ 
try, perhaps in any country. The mat¬ 
ter is select, and the notes are copious 

and clear . 

Respectfully, 

J. P. Dubbin. 


From Thomas R. Ingalls, Esq., 
President of Jefferson College at 
St. James, Louisiana. 

. I have examined them with atten¬ 
tion, and have no hesitation in saying 
that I prefer them to any books 1 have 
seen for the schools for which they are in¬ 


tended. The editions by Dr. Anthon 
seem to me to supply, in a very judicious 
manner, what is wanting to the student, 
and cannot fail, I should think, to aid in 
restoring Classical studies from their 
unhappily languishing condition. 

Your obedient servant, 

Tho. R. Ingalls. 

From C. L. Dubuisson, A.M., Presi¬ 
dent of Jefferson College at Wash¬ 
ington, Miss. 

I have examined with some care the 
first five volumes of Anthon’s ISeries of 
Classical Works. They are such as I 
should expect from the distinguished ed¬ 
itor. The “ Horace” and “ Sallust” 
of this gentleman have long been known 
to me as the very best books to be placed 
in the hands oj a student. Asa com¬ 
mentator, Professor Anthon has, in my 
estimation, no equal. JJis works have 
excited a great and beneficial influence 
in the cause of Classical learning, and 
the present undertaking will infinitely 
extend the. sphere of that influence. No 
one so well as a teacher can appreciate 
the value of uniform editions oj the text¬ 
books to be used by his classes. The 
undertaking of publishing a complete 
series of all those standard works which 
students must read is a noble one, and 
1 sincerely hope it will be completed. 
With such a series as the present prom¬ 
ises to be, there will be nothing left to 
desire. It is be hoped that editor and 
publishers will meet with such encourage¬ 
ment as their truly valuable undertaking 
deserves. 

Your obedient servant, 

C. L. Dubuisson. 

From the Rev. John Ludlow, Pres¬ 
ident of the University of Pennsyl¬ 
vania at Philadelphia. 

. The object is worthy your en¬ 
terprising spirit, and you have been sin¬ 
gularly fortunate in securing the services 
of Professor Anthon to direct it to its 
completion. The volumes which you 
have kindly sent me fully sustain the 
reputation of that distinguished scholar, 
and afford a sure pledge of what may be 
expected in those which are to follow. 
Most heartily do 1 recommend your un¬ 
dertaking, and sincerely hope it will meet 
with the encouragement which it richly 
deserves. 

With great respect, yours, df-c., 
John Ludlow. 























March , 1840. 

VALUABLE STANDARD WORKS 

PUBLISHED BY 

HARPER & BROTHERS, NE W-Y 0 R K. 


HISTORY. 
INSTITUTES op ECCLESI¬ 


ASTICAL HISTORY, Ancient and 
Modern, in four Books, much Cor¬ 
rected, Enlarged, and Improved, 
from the Primary Authorities, by 
John Lawrence Von Mosheim, 
D.D., Chancellor of the University 
of Gottingen. A new and literal 
Translation from the original Latin, 
with copious additional Notes, ori¬ 
ginal and selected. By James Mur¬ 
dock, D.D. 3 vols. 8vo. 

The HISTORY of MODERN 
EUROPE: with a View of the 
Progress of Society, from the Rise 
of the Modem Kingdoms to the 
Peace of Paris, in 1763. By Wil¬ 
liam Russell, LL.D.: and a Con¬ 
tinuation of the History to the pres¬ 
ent Time, by William Jones, Esq. 
With annotations by an American. 
3 vols. 8vo. With Engravings, &c. 

The HISTORICAL WORKS 
of WILLIAM ROBERTSON, 
D.D. 3 vols. 8vo. With Maps, En¬ 
gravings, &c. 

The HISTORY of the DIS¬ 
COVERY and SETTLEMENT 
of AMERICA. By William Rob¬ 
ertson, D.D. With an Account of 
his Life and Writings. To which 
are added, Questions for the Exam¬ 
ination of Students. By John 
Frost, A.M. 8vo. With a Portrait 
and Engravings. 

The HISTORY of the REIGN 
of the EMPEROR CHARLES 
V.; with a View of the Progress of 
Society in Europe, from the Subver¬ 
sion of the Roman Empire to the 
Beginning of the Sixteenth Century. 
By William Robertson, D.D. To 
which are added, Questions for the 
Examination of Students. By John 
Frost, A.M. 8vo. With Engra¬ 
vings. 

The HISTORY of SCOT¬ 
LAND, during the Reigns of Queen 


Mary and of King James VI., till his 
Accession to the Crown of England. 
With a Review of the Scottish His¬ 
tory previ ms to that Period. Inclu- I 
ding the History of India. 8vo. 

The HISTORY of the DE¬ 
CLINE AND FALL OF THE RO- | 
MAN EMPIRE. By Edward 
Gibbon, Esq. With Notes, by the ] 
Rev. H. H. Milman. 4 vols. 8vo. 
With Maps and Engravings. 

VIEW of the STATE of EU- I 
ROPE DURING THE MIDDLE i 
AGES. By Henry Hallam. 8vo. | 
From the Sixth London Edition. 

INTRODUCTION to the LIT- . 
ERARY HISTORY of EUROPE, I 
during the 15th, 16th, 17th, and 18th 
Centuries. By Henry Hallam. 
[In press.] 

The ANCIENT HISTORY of 
the EGYPTIANS, CARTHA¬ 
GINIANS, ASSYRIANS, BABY- I 
LON IANS, MEDES and PER¬ 
SIANS. GRECIANS, and MACE- 
DONIANS; including the History 
of the Arts and Sciences of the 
Ancients. By Charles Rollin. , 
With a Life of the Author, by James i 
Bell. First complete American 1 
Edition. 8vo. Embellished with !j 
nine Engravings, including three 
Maps. 

PRIDEAUX’S CONNEXIONS; j 
or, the Old and New Testaments i 
connected, in the History of the !' 
Jews and neighbouring Nat ions, from | 
the Declension of the Kingdoms of i 
Israel and Judah to the Time of 
Christ. By Humphrey Prideaux, 
D.D. New Edition. 2 vols. 8vo. i 
With Maps and Engravings. 

The HISTORY of the AMER- 
ICAN THEATRE. By William 
Dunlap. 8vo. 

HISTORY of the REFORM¬ 
ED RELIGION in FRANCE. By 
the Rev. E. Smedley. 3 vols. 18mo. 1 


l 





















Valuable Standard Works 


HIST 


A HISTORY of the CHURCH, 
from the earliest Ages to the Refor¬ 
mation. By the Rev. George Wad- 
dington, M.A. 8vo. 

ANNALS of TRYON COUN¬ 
TY ; or, the Border Warfare of New- 
York during the Revolution. By 
W. W. Campbell. 8vo. 

A NARRATIVE of EVENTS 
connected with the RISE and 
PROGRESS of the PROTES¬ 
TANT EPISCOPAL CHURCH 
in VIRGINIA. To which is added 
an Appendix, containing the Jour¬ 
nals of the Conventions in Virginia 
from the Commencement to the pres¬ 
ent Time. By F. L. Hawks. 8vo. 

HISTORY of PRIESTCRAFT 
in all Ages and Countries. By Wil¬ 
liam Howitt. 12mo. 

The CON D1TION of GREECE. 
By Col. J. P. Miller. 12mo. 

FULL ANNALS of the REV¬ 
OLUTION in FRANCE, 1830. 
To which is added, a particular Ac¬ 
count of the Celebration of said Rev¬ 
olution in the City of New-York, on 
the 25th November, 1830. By Myer 
Moses. 12mo. 

The HISTORY of the JEWS. 
From the earliest Period to the pres¬ 
ent Time. By the Rev. H. H. Mil- 
man. 3 vols. 18mo. With Engra¬ 
vings, Maps, &c. 

HISTORY of the BIBLE 
By the Rev. G. R. Gleig. 2 vols. 
18mo. With a Map. 

HISTORY of CPIIVALRY and 
the CRUSADES. By G. P. R. 
James. 18mo. Engravings. 

A VIEW of ANCIENT and 
MODERN EGYPT. With an Out¬ 
line of its Natural History. By the 
Rev. M. Russell, LL.D. 18mo 
Engravings. 

SACRED HISTORY of the 
WORLD, as displayed in the Crea¬ 
tion and subsequent Events to the 
Deluge. Attempted to be philosoph¬ 
ically considered in a Series of Let¬ 
ters to a Son. By Sharon Turn¬ 
ed, F.S.A. 3 vols. 18ino. 

PALESTINE; ok, the HOLY 
LAN D. From the earliest Period to 
the present Time. By the Rev. M. 
Russell, LL.D. 18mo. Engra¬ 
vings. 


o R Y. 


HISTORY OF POLAND. From 
the earliest Period to the present 
Time. By James Fletcher, Esq. 
18mo. With a Portrait. 

SKETCHES from VENETIAN 
HISTORY. By the Rev. E. Smed- 
ley, M.A. 2 vols. I8mo. Engra¬ 
vings. 

HISTORICAL and DESCRIP¬ 
TIVE ACCOUNT of BRITISH 
INDIA. From the most remote 
Period to the present Time. Inclu¬ 
ding a Narrative of the Early Portu¬ 
guese and English Voyages, the 
Revolutions in the Mogul Empire, 
and the Origin, Progress, and Estab¬ 
lishment of the British Power; with 
Illustrations of the Botany, Zoology, 
Climate, Geology, Mineralogy. By 
Hugh Murray, Esq., James Wil¬ 
son, Esq., R. K. Greville, LL.D., 
Whitelaw Ainslie, M.D., Wil¬ 
liam Rhind, Esq., Professor Jame¬ 
son, Professor Wallace, and Cap¬ 
tain Clarence Dalrimple. 3vols. 
18mo. Engravings. 

HISTORY of IRELAND. From 
the Anglo-Norman Invasion till the 
Union of the Country with Great 
Britain. By W. C. Taylor, Esq. 
With Additions, by William Samp¬ 
son, Esq. 2 vols. 18mo. With En¬ 
gravings. 

The HISTORY of ARABIA, 
Ancient and Modern. Containing a 
Description of the Country—An ac¬ 
count of its Inhabitants, Antiquities, 
Political Condition, and early Com¬ 
merce—The Life and Religion of 
Mohammed—The Conquests, Arts, 
and Literature of the Saracens—The 
Caliphs of Damascus, Bagdad, Af¬ 
rica, and Spain—The Government 
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PLUTARCH’S LIVES. Trans¬ 
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MEMOIRS of the LIFE and 
CORRESPONDENCE of MRS. 
HANNAH MORE. By William 
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The LIFE and DEATH of 
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MEMOIRS of AARON BURR. 
With Miscellaneous Selections from 
his Correspondence. By Matthew 
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TRAITS of the TEA-PARTY; 
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The LIFE of JOHN JAY; with 
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A MEMOIR of the LIFE of 
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ber of Congress in 1774, 1775, and 
1776 ; Delegate to the Federal Con¬ 
vention in 1787, and Governor of the 
State of New-Jersey from 1776 to 
1790. With Extracts from his Cor¬ 
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RECORDS of MY LIFE. By 
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PLUTARCH’S LIVES. Trans¬ 
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Notes, critical and historical, and a 
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horne, A.M. New Edition. 4 vols. 
large 12mo. 

LETTERS and JOURNALS 
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Esq. 2 vols. 8vo. With a Portrait. 

The PRIVATE JOURNAL of 
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dence in Europe, with Selections 
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by M. L. Davis. 2 vols. 8vo. 

SKETCHES of the LIFE and 
CHARACTER of the REV. 
LEMUEL HAYNES, A.M. By 
Timothy Mather Cooley, D.D. 
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LIFE of EDMUND KEAN. 
By Barry Cornwall. 12mo. 

LIFE of MRS. SIDDONS. By 
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The LIFE of WICKLIF. By 
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LUTHER and the LUTHER- 
AN REFORMATION. By Rev. 
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Portraits. 

The LIFE of ARCHBISHOP 
CRANMER. By Charles Webb 
Le Bas, A.M. 2 vols. 18mo. With 
a Portrait. 

The RELIGIOUS OPINIONS 
and CHARACTER of WASH¬ 
INGTON. By Rev. E. C.M'Guire. 
12mo. 

A LIFE of GEORGE WASH¬ 
INGTON. In Latin Prose. By 
Francis Glass, A.M., of Ohio. 
Edited by J. N. Reynolds. 12mo. 
Portrait. 

The LIFE of ANDREW JACK- 
SON, President of the United States 
of America. By William Cob- 
bett, M.P. 18mo. With a Por¬ 
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MATTHIAS and his IMPOS¬ 
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A P H Y. 


and some of his Forerunners and 
Disciples. By William L. Stone. 
18mo. 

LIVES of the NECROMAN¬ 
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the Exercise of Magical Power. By 
William Godwin. 12mo. 

SKETCHES and ECCENTRI¬ 
CITIES of COL. DAVID CROCK¬ 
ETT. 12mo. 

ANECDOTES of SIR WAL¬ 
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thor, by S. Dewitt Bloodgood, 
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The LIFE of BARON CUVI¬ 
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The LIFE, CHARACTER, and 
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MY IMPRISONMENTS: ME¬ 
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DA SALUZZO. Translated from 
the Italian. By Thomas Roscoe. 
12mo. 

The LIFE of NAPOLEON 
BONAPARTE. By J. G. Lock¬ 
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Portraits. 

The LIFE of NELSON. By 
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The LIFE and ACTIONS of 
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The LIFE of LORD BYRON. 
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The LIFE of MOHAMMED, 
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The LIFE and TIMES of 
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LIVES of the most EMI¬ 
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MEMOIRS of the EMPRESS 
JOSEPHINE. By John S.Memes, 
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LIFE of SIR ISAAC NEW¬ 
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The COURT and CAMP of 
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LIVES and VOYAGES of 
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MEMOIRS of CELEBRATED 
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LIVES of CELEBRATED 
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LIFE of FREDERICK the 
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INDIAN BIOGRAPHY; or, an 
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other Remarkable Characters. By 
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HISTORY of CHARLE¬ 
MAGNE. To which is prefixed an 
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of France from the earliest Period 
to the Birth of Charlemagne. By 
G. P. R. James. 18mo. Portrait. 

The LIFE of OLIVER CROM¬ 
WELL. By the Rev. M. Russell, 
LL.D. 2 vols. 18mo. Portrait. 

MEMOIR of the LIFE of 
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A LIFE of WASHINGTON. 
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The LIFE and WORKS of 
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2 vols. 18mo. 

The LIFE and TRAVELS of 
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AMERICAN BIOGRAPHY. 
Edited by Jared Sparks, Esq. 10 
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I. Life of John Stark, by Edward 
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Life of Richard Montgomery, by J. 
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to the Indians, by Convers Francis. 

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Ellery, by E. T. Channing—Life of 
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body. 

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tenhouse, by James Renwick. 

VIII. Life of Jonathan Edwards, 
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Brainerd, by Wm. B. O. Peabody. 

IX. Life of Baron Steuben, by 
Francis Bowen.—Life of Sebastian 
Cabot, by Charles Hayward, Jr.— 
Life of William Eaton, by Cornelius 
C. Felton. 

X. Life of Robert Fulton, by Pro¬ 
fessor Renwick.—Life of Henry 
Hudson, by Henry R. Cleveland.— 
Life of Joseph Warren, by Alexan¬ 
der H. Everett.—Life of Father Mar¬ 
quette, by Jared Sparks. 


7 







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BIOSEA PH Y.-V OYAGES, TRAVELS, ETC. 


LIVES of the SIGNERS of 
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BIOGRAPHIES of DISTIN 
GUISHED FEMALES. 2 vols 
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EXEMPLARY and INSTRUC 
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LIFE and CORRESPOND 
ENCE of DEWITT CLINTON 
By Professor Renwick. 18mo. Por 
trait. 

LIFE and CORRESPOND 
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DER HAMILTON. By Professor 
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LIFE and CORRESPOND¬ 
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LIVES of the APOSTLES 
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SKETCHES of the LIVES of 
DISTINGUISHED FEMALES. 
Written for Young Ladies, with a 
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VOYAGES, TRAVELS, &c. 


LETTERS from the OLD 
WORLD. ByaLadyofNew-York. 
2 vols. 12mo. 

TRAVELS in the UNITED 
STATES during the Years 1834, 5, 
6, including a Summer Residence 
with the Pawnee Indians and a Visit 
to Cuba and the Azores. By the 
Hon. Charles Augustus Murray. 
2 vols. 12mo. 

EMBASSY to the EASTERN 
COURTS of SIAM, COCHIN- 
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VOYAGE of the UNITED 
STATES FRIGATE POTOMAC, 
under the command of Com. John 
Downes, during the Circumnaviga¬ 
tion of the Globe, in the years 183J, 
1832, 1833, and 1834; including a 
particular Account of the Engage¬ 
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TRAVELS in EUROPE : viz., 
in England, Ireland, Scotland, 
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parts of Germany, and the Nether¬ 
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RETROSPECT of WEST¬ 
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riet Martineau. 2 vols. 12mo. 


The FAR WEST ; or, a Tour 
beyond the Mountains. 2 vols. 
12mo. 

INCIDENTS of TRAVEL in 
EGYPT, ARABIA PETRiEA, 
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vings. 

INCIDENTS of TRAVEL in 
GREECE, TURKEY, RUSSIA, 
and POLAND. By the Author of 
“ Incidents of Travel in Egypt, Ara¬ 
bia Petraea, and the Holy Land.” 2 
vols. 12mo. Engravings. 

A YEAR in SPAIN. By a 
Young American. 3 vols. 12mo. 
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SPAIN REVISITED. By the 
Author of “ A Year in Spain.” 2 
vols. 12mo. Engravings. 

The AMERICAN in ENG¬ 
LAND. By the Author of “ A Year 
in Spain.” 2 vols. 12mo. 

TRAVELS and RESEARCH¬ 
ES in CAFFRARIA; describing 
the Character, Customs, and Moral 
Condition of the Tribes inhabiting 
that Portion of Southern Africa. 
By Stephen Kay. 12mo. Map, 
&c. 

POLYNESIAN RESEARCH¬ 
ES, during a Residence of nearly 
eight Years in the Society and Sand¬ 
wich Islands. By William Ellis. 
4 vols. 12mo. Maps, &c. 



























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VOYAGES, T1 

GREAT BRITAIN, FRANCE, 
and BELGIUM. A short Tour in 
1835. By Heman Humphrey, D.D. 
2 vols. 12mo. 

A NARRATIVE of FOUR 
VOYAGES to the South Sea, North 
and South Pacific Ocean, Chinese 
Sea, Ethiopic and Southern Atlantic 
Ocean, and Antarctic Ocean. From 
the Year 1822 to 1831. Comprising 
an Account of some valuable Discov¬ 
eries, including the Massacre Isl¬ 
ands, where thirteen of the Author’s 
Crew were massacred and eaten by 
Cannibals. By Capt. Benjamin 
Morrell, Jun. 8vo. 

NARRATIVE of a VOYAGE 
to the SOUTH SEAS, in 1829-31. 
By Abby Jane Morrell, who ac¬ 
companied her husband, Capt. Ben¬ 
jamin Morrell, Jun., of the Schooner 
Antarctic. 12mo. 

PARIS and the PARISIANS, 
in 1835. By Frances Trollope. 
8vo. Engravings. 

The NARRATIVE of AR¬ 
THUR GORDON PYM of Nan¬ 
tucket. Comprising the Details of a 
Mutiny and atrocious Butchery on 
board the American Brig Grampus, 
on her way to the South Seas, in the 
Month of June, 1827. With an Ac¬ 
count of the Recapture of the Ves¬ 
sel by the Survivers; their Ship¬ 
wreck and subsequent horrible Suf¬ 
ferings from Famine ; their Deliver¬ 
ance by means of the British Schoon¬ 
er Jane Guy ; the brief cruise of this 
latter Vessel in the Antarctic Ocean; 
her Capture, and the Massacre of 
her Crew, among a Group of Islands 
in the eighty-fourth Parallel of South¬ 
ern Latitude ; together with the in¬ 
credible Adventures and Discoveries 
still farther South to which that dis¬ 
tressing Calamity gave rise. 12mo. 

NARRATIVE of an EXPEDI¬ 
TION THROUGH THE UPPER MIS¬ 
SISSIPPI TO ITASCA LAKE, the 
actual Source of this River; embra¬ 
cing an Exploratory Trip through 
the St. Croix and Burntwood (or 
Broule) Rivers. By Henry R. 
Schoolcraft. 8vo. Maps. 

A HOME TOUR through 
the MANUFACTURING DIS¬ 
TRICTS of ENGLAND. By Sir 
George Head. 12ino. 


a v e l s, ETC. 

SKETCHES of TURKEY in 
1831 and 1832. By an American. 
8vo. Engravings. 

LETTERS from the ^EGEAN. 
By James Emerson, Esq. 8vo. 

FOUR YEARS in GREAT 
BRITAIN. By Calvin Colton. 
12mo. 

The SOUTHWEST. By a 
Yankee. 2 vols. 12mo. 

The RAMBLER in NORTH 
AMERICA. By C. J. Latrobe, 
Author of the “ Alpenstock,” &c. 2 
vols. 12mo. 

The RAMBLER in MEXICO. 
By C. J. Latrobe. 12mo. 

A NARRATIVE of the VISIT 
to the AMERICAN CHURCH¬ 
ES, by the Deputation from the Con¬ 
gregational Union of England and 
Wales. By Andrew Reed, D.D., 
and James Matheson, D.D. 2 vols. 
12mo. 

CONSTANTINOPLE and its 
ENVIRONS. In a Series of Let¬ 
ters, exhibiting the actual State of 
the Manners, Customs, and Habits 
of the Turks, Armenians, Jews, and 
Greeks, as modified by the policy of 
Sultan Mahmoud. By an American, 
long resident at Constantinople 
(Commodore Porter). In 2 vols. 
12mo. 

The TOURIST, or Pocket Man¬ 
ual for Travellers on the Hudson 
River, the Western Canal and Stage 
Road to Niagara Falls, down Lake 
Ontorio and the St. Lawrence to 
Montreal and Quebec. Comprising 
also the Routes to Lebanon, Ball- 
ston, and Saratoga Springs. 18mo. 
With a Map. 

NARRATIVE of VOYAGES to 
EXPLORE the SHORES of 
AFRICA, ARABIA, and MADA¬ 
GASCAR; performed in H. M. 
Ships Leven and Barracouta, under 
the Direction of Captain W. F. W. 
Owen, R.N. 2 vols. 12mo. 

A WINTER in the WEST. 
By a New-Yorker (C. F. Hoffman, 
Esq.). 2 vols. 12mo. 

OBSERVATIONS on PRO¬ 
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MANNERS, and EMIGRATION 
in the United States and Canada. 
By the Rev. Isaac Fidler. 12mo. 


9 







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VOYAGES, TRAVELS, 

An IMPROVED MAP of the 
HUDSON RIVER, with the Post 
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THINGS as THEY ARE; or, 
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of the Middle and Northern States. 
12mo. Engravings. 

VISITS and SKETCHES at 
HOME and ABROAD. With 
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“ Diary of an Ennuy6e.” By Mrs. 
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A SUBALTERN’S FUR¬ 
LOUGH : Descriptive of Scenery 
in various parts of the United States, 
Upper and Lower Canada, New- 
Brunswick, and Nova Scotia, during 
the Summer and Autumn of 1832. 
By E. T. Coke, Lieutenant of the 
45th Regiment. 2 vols. 12mo. 

NARRATIVE of DISCOVERY 
and ADVENTURE in the PO¬ 
LAR SEAS and REGIONS. With 
Illustrations of their Climate, Geolo¬ 
gy, and Natural History, and an Ac¬ 
count of the Whale-Fishery. By 
Professors Leslie and Jameson, 
and Hugh Murray. 18mo. With 
Maps, &c. 

NARRATIVE of DISCOVERY 
and ADVENTURE in AFRICA. 
From the earliest Ages to the pres¬ 
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Geology, Mineralogy, and Zoology. 
By Professor Jameson, and James 
Wilson and Hugh Murray, Esqrs. 
18mo. 


3 T C.-T HEOLOGY, ETC. 

DESCRIPTION of PIT¬ 
CAIRN’S ISLAND, and its Inhab¬ 
itants. With an Authentic Account 
of the Mutiny of the Ship Bounty, 
and of the subsequent Fortunes of 
the Mutineers. By J. Barrow, 
Esq. 18mo. Engravings. 

JOURNAL of an EXPEDI¬ 
TION to EXPLORE the 
COURSE and TERMINATION 
of the NIGER. With a Narra¬ 
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its Termination. By Richard and 
John Lander. 2 vols. 18mo. En¬ 
gravings. 

The TRAVELS and RE- 
SEARCHKS of ALEXANDER 
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densed Narrative of his Journeys in 
the Equinoctial Regions of America, 
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vestigations. By W. Macgilli- 
vray, A.M. 18mo. Engravings. 

PARRY’S VOYAGES and 
JOURNEY TOWARDS THE 

NORTH POLE. 2 vols. 18mo. 
Engravings. 

PERILS of the SEA; being 
Authentic Narratives of Remarka¬ 
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Deep. With Illustrations of the 
Power and Goodness of God in won¬ 
derful Preservations. 18mo. En¬ 
gravings. 

CAROLINE WESTERLEY; 
or, the Young Traveller from Ohio. 
By Mrs. Phelps (formerly Mrs. Lin¬ 
coln). 18mo. Engravings. 


THEOLOGY, &c. 


The WORKS of the REV. 
ROBERT HALL, A.M. With a 
brief Memoir of his Life, by Dr. 
Gregory, and Observations on his 
Character as a Preacher, by the Rev. 
John Foster. Edited by Olin- 
thus Gregory, LL.D. 3 vols. 8vo. 
Portrait. 

ESSAYS on the PRINCI¬ 
PLES of MORALITY, and on the 
Private and Political Rights and Ob- 
ligations of Mankind. By Jonathan 
Dymond. With a Preface by the 
Rev. George Bush, M.A. 8vo. 


EVIDENCE of the TRUTH 
of the CHRISTIAN RELIGION, 
derived from the literal Fulfilment of 
Prophecy. By the Rev. Alexander 
Keith. 12mo. 

DEMONSTRATION of the 
TRUTH of the CHRISTIAN 
RELIGION. By Alex. Keith, 
D.D. 12mo. Engravings. 

The HARMONY of CHRIS¬ 
TIAN FAITH and CHRISTIAN 
CHARACTER, and the Culture and 
Discipline of the Mind. By John 
Abercrombie, M.D. 18mo. 


i 

I 


10 












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THEOLOGY, ETC. 


ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY. 


INSTITUTES of ECCLESI¬ 
ASTICAL HISTORY, Ancient and 
Modern, in four Books, much Cor¬ 
rected, Enlarged, and Improved, 
from the Primary Authorities, by 
John Lawrence Yon Mosheim, 
D.D., Chancellor of the University 
of Gottingen. A new and literal 
Translation from the original Latin, 
with copious additional Notes, ori¬ 
ginal and selected. By James Mur¬ 
dock, D.D. 3 vols. 8vo. 

A HISTORY of the CHURCH, 
from the earliest Ages to the Refor¬ 
mation. By the Rev. George Wad- 
DINGTON, M.A. 8V0. 

PRIDEAUX'S CONNEXIONS; 
or, the Old and New Testaments 
connected, in the History of the 
Jews and neighbouring Nations, from 
the Declension of the Kingdoms of 
Israel and Judah to the Time of 
Christ. By Humphrey Prideaux, 
D.D. New Edition. 2 vols. 8vo. 
With Maps and Engravings. 

HISTORY of PRIESTCRAFT 
in all Ages and Countries. By Wil¬ 
liam Howitt. 12mo. 


A NARRATIVE of EVENTS 
connected with the RISE and 
PROGRESS of the PROTES¬ 
TANT EPISCOPAL CHURCH 
in VIRGINIA. To which is added 
an Appendix, containing the Jour¬ 
nals of the Conventions in Virginia 
from the Commencement to the pres¬ 
ent Time. By F. L. Hawks. 8vo. 

LUTHER and the LUTHER¬ 
AN REFORMATION. By the 
Rev. John Scott, A.M. 2 vols. 
18mo. Portraits. 

HISTORY of the REFORM¬ 
ED RELIGION in FRANCE. 
By the Rev. E. Smedley. 3 vols. 
18mo. Engravings. 

HISTORY of the BIBLE. By 
the Rev. G. R. Gleig. 2 vols. 
18mo. Map. 

SACRED HISTORY of the 
WORLD, as displayed in the Crea¬ 
tion and Subsequent Events to the 
Deluge. Attempted to be Philo¬ 
sophically considered in a Series of 
Letters to a Son. By Sharon 
Turner, F.S.A. 3 vols. 18mo. 


NATURAL THEOLOGY. 


PALEY’S NATURAL THE¬ 
OLOGY. With Illustrative Notes, 
by Henry Lord Brougham, 
F.R.S., and Sir Charles Bell, 
K.G.H., F.R.S., L. & E. With nu- 
merous Woodcuts. To which are 
added Preliminary Observations and 
Notes. By Alonzo Potter, D.D. 
2 vols. 18mo. 

On the POWER, WISDOM, 
and GOODNESS of GOD, as 
manifested in the Adaptation of Ex¬ 
ternal Nature to the Moral and In¬ 


tellectual Constitution of Man. By 
the Rev. Thomas Chalmers, D.D., 
Professor of Divinity in the Univer¬ 
sity of Edinburgh. 12mo. 

The HAND, its Mechanism and 
Vital Endowments, as evincing De¬ 
sign. By Sir Charles Bell, 
K.G.H., F.R.S., &c. 12mo. 

On ASTRONOMY and GEN¬ 
ERAL PHYSICS. By the Rev. 
William Whewell. M.A., F.R.S., 
&c. 12mo. 


PROTESTANT JESUITISM. 
By a Protestant. I2mo. 

THOUGHTS on the RELI¬ 
GIOUS STATE of the COUN¬ 
TRY : with Reasons for preferring 
Episcopacy. By the Rev. Calvin 
Colton. 12mo. 

A CONCORDANCE to the 
HOLY SCRIPTURES of the Old 
and New Testaments. By John 
Brown, of Haddington. 32mo. 


The CONSISTENCY of the 
WHOLE SCHEME of REVE¬ 
LATION with Itself and with Hu¬ 
man Reason. By Philip Nicho¬ 
las Shuttleworth, D.D. 18mo. 

HELP to FAITH; or, a Sum¬ 
mary of the Evidences of the Gen¬ 
uineness, Authenticity, Credibility, 
and Divine Authority of the Holy 
Scriptures. By the Rev. P. P. 
Sandford. 12mo. 


11 















Valuable Standard Works 


t,*—---- 

THEOLOGY, ET C.—M EDICINE, SURGERY, ETC. 

A DICTIONARY OF the HOLY 
BIBLE. Containing an Historical 
Account of the Persons; a Geo¬ 
graphical and Historical Account of 
the Places ; a Literal, Critical, and 
Systematical Description of other 
Objects, whether Natural, Artificial, 
Civil, Religious, or Military; and 
an Explanation of the appellative 
Terms mentioned in the Old and 
New Testaments. By the Rev. 
John Brown. With a Life of the 
Author i and an Essay on the Evi¬ 
dence of Christianity. 8vo. 

SERMONS of the REV. 
JAMES SAURIN, late Pastor of 
the French Church at the Hague. 
From the French, by the Rev. Rob¬ 
ert Robinson, Rev. Henry Hun¬ 
ter, D.D., and Rev. Joseph Sut- 
ci.iffe, A.M. A new Edition, with 
additional Sermons. Revised and 
corrected by the Rev. Samuel Bor¬ 
der, A.M. With a likeness of the 
Author, and a general Index. From 
the last London Edition. With a 
Preface by the Rev. J. P. K. Hen- 
shaw, D.D. 2 vols. 8vo. 

WORKS of the REV. JOHN 
WESLEY. 10 vols. 8vo. 

A TREATISE on the MIL¬ 
LENIUM; in which the prevailing 
Theories on that Subject are care¬ 
fully examined ; and the true Scrip¬ 
tural Doctrine attempted to be elicit¬ 
ed and established. By George 
Bush, A.M. 12mo. 

The COMFORTER; or, Ex¬ 
tracts selected for the Consolation of 
Mourners under the Bereavement of 
Friends.and Relations. By a Vil¬ 
lage Pastor. 12mo. 

CHRISTIANITY INDEPEND¬ 
ENT of the CIVIL GOVERN¬ 
MENT. 12mo. 

SUNDAY EVENINGS; or, an 
easy Introduction to the Reading of 
the Bible. By the Author of “ The 
Infant Christian’s First Catechism.” 
18mo. Engravings. 

-EVIDENCES of CHRISTIAN¬ 
ITY ; or, Uncle Philip’s Conversa¬ 
tions with the Children about the 
Truth of the Christian Religion. 
18mo. Engravings. 

MEDICINE, S 

The STUDY of MEDICINE. 
By John Mason Good, M.D., 
F.R.S. Improved from the Author’s 
Manuscripts, and by Reference to 
the latest Advances in Physiology, 
Pathology, and Practice. By Sam¬ 
uel Cooper, M.D. With Notes, 
by A. Sidney Doane, A.M., M.D. 
To which is prefixed, a Sketch of 
the History of Medicine, from its 
Origin to the Commencement of the 
19th Century. By J. Bostock, 
M.D., F.R.S. 2 vols. 8vo. 

MIDWIFERY ILLUSTRA¬ 
TED. By J. P. Maygrier, M.D. 
Translated from the French, with 
Notes, by A. Sidney Doane, A.M., 
M.D. With 82 Plates. 8vo. 

SURGERY ILLUSTRATED. 
Compiled from the Works of Cutler, 
Hind, Velpeau, and Blasius. By A. 
Sidney Doane, A.M., M.D. With 
52 Plates. 8vo. 

A TREATISE on TOPO¬ 
GRAPHICAL ANATOMY; or, 

URGERY, &c. 

the Anatomy of the Regions of the 
Human Body, considered in its Re¬ 
lations with Surgery and Operative 
Medicine. With an Atlas of 12 
Plates. By Ph. Fred. Blandin, 
Professor of Anatomy and Operative 
Medicine, &c. Translated from the 
French, by A. Sidney Doane, A.M., 
M.D. With additional Matter and 
Plates. 8vo. 

ELEMENTS of the ETIOL¬ 
OGY and PHILOSOPHY of 
EPIDEMICS. By Joseph Ma¬ 
ther Smith, M.D. 8vo. 

An ELEMENTARY TREA¬ 
TISE on ANATOMY. By A. L. 

J. Bayle. Translated from the 
sixth French Edition, by A. Sidney 
Doane, A.M., M.D. 18mo. 

LEXICON MEDICUM; or, 
Medical Dictionary. By R. Hooper, 
M.D. With Additions from Ameri¬ 
can Authors, by Samuel Akerly, 
M.D. 8vo. 


12 













Published by Harper <$• Brothers. 




M E D I C I N E.-F OR SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES. 


A DICTIONARY of PRAC¬ 
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er, M.D. With numerous Notes 
and Additions, embracing all the 
principal American Improvements. 
By D. M. Reese, M.D. 8vo. 


DIRECTIONS for INVIGO¬ 
RATING and PROLONGING 
LIFE ; or, the Invalid’s Oracle. By 
William Kitchiner, M.D. Im¬ 
proved by T. S. Barrett, M.D. 
18mo. 

The ECONOMY of HEALTH 
or, the Stream of Human Life, from 
the Cradle to the Grave. With Re¬ 
flections, Moral, Physical, and Phil¬ 
osophical, on the Septennial Phases 
of Human Existence. By James 
Johnson. 18mo. 

The PRINCIPLES of PHYSI¬ 
OLOGY applied to the Preservation 


A TREATISE on EPIDEMIC 
CHOLERA, as observed in the 
Duane-street Cholera Hospital, 
New-York, during its Prevalence 
there in 1831. By F. T. Ferris. 
8vo. Plates. 


of Health, and to the Improvement 
of Physical and Mental Education. 
By Andrew Combe, M D. 18mo. 
Engravings. 

The PHILOSOPHY of LIV¬ 
ING ; or, the Way to enjoy Life and 
its Comforts. By Caleb Ticknor, 
A.M., M.D. 18mo. Engravings. 

ANIMAL MECHANISM and 
PHYSIOLOGY ; being a Plain and 
Familiar Exposition of the Structure 
and Functions of the Human System. 
Designed for the Use of Families and 
Schools. By John H. Griscom, 
M. D. 18mo. Engravings. 


FOR SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES. 

anthon’s series of classical works. 


FIRST LATIN LESSONS, con¬ 
taining the most important Parts of 
the Grammar of the Latin Language, 
together with appropriate Exercises 
in the translating and writing of Lat¬ 
in, for the Use of Beginners. By 
Charles Anthon, Ll.D., &c. 
12rno. 

FIRST GREEK LESSONS, 
containing the most important Parts 
of the Grammar of the Greek Lan¬ 
guage, together with appropriate Ex¬ 
ercises in the translating and writing 
of Greek, for the Use of Beginners. 
By Charles Anthon, LL.D. 
12mo. 

A GRAMMAR of the GREEK 
LANGUAGE, for the Use of Schools 
and Colleges. By Charles An¬ 
thon, LL.D. 12mo. 

The GREEK READER. By 
Frederic Jacobs. A New Edition, 
with English Notes, critical and ex¬ 
planatory, a Metrical Index to Ho¬ 
mer and Anacreon, and a copious 
Lexicon. By Charles Anthon, 
LL.D.. &c. 12mo. 


A SYSTEM of GREEK PROS¬ 
ODY and METRE, for the Use 
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with the Choral Scanning of the 
Prometheus Vinctus of Aeschylus, 
and the Ajax and CEdipus Tyrannus 
of Sophocles; to which are append¬ 
ed Remarks on the Indo-Germanic 
Analogies. By Charles Anthon, 
LL.D. 12mo. 

CESAR’S COMMENTARIES. 
on the GALLIC WAR; and the 
first Book of the Greek Paraphrase ; 
with English Notes, critical and ex> 
planatory, Plans of Battles, Sieges^ 
&c., and Historical, Geographical, 
and Archaeological Indexes. By 
Charles Anthon, LL.D. i2mo. 
Map, Portrait, &c. 

SALLUST’S JUGURTBINE 
WAR and CONSPIRACY of 
CATILINE. With an English 
Commentary, and Geographical and 
Historical Indexes. By Charles 
Anthon, LL.D. Ninth Edition,cor¬ 
rected and enlarged. 12mo. Por¬ 
trait. 


13 






















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I 

I 


FOR SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES. 


SELECT ORATIONS of CI¬ 
CERO. With English Notes, crit¬ 
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By Charles Anthon, LL.D., &c. 
A new Edition, with Improvements. 
12mo. With a Portrait. 

The WORKS of HORACE. 
With English Notes, critical and 
explanatory. By Charles An¬ 
thon, LL.D., &c. New Edition, 
with corrections and improvements. 
12mo. 


A CLASSICAL DICTIONARY, 
containing an Account of all the 
Proper Names mentioned in Ancient 
Authors, and intended to elucidate 
all the Important Points connected 
with the Geography, History, Biog¬ 
raphy, Archaiology, and Mythology 
of the Greeks and Romans, together 
with a copious Chronological Table, 
and an Account of the Coins, 
Weights, and Measures of the An¬ 
cients, with Tabular Values of the 
same. By Charles Anthon, 
LL.D., &c. 8vo. (Nearly ready.) 


A LIFE of GEORGE WASH¬ 
INGTON. In Latin Prose. By 
Francis Glass, A.M., of Ohio. 
Edited by J. N. Reynolds. 12mo. 
Portrait. 

INITIA LATINA; or, the Rudi¬ 
ments of the Latin Tongue. Illus¬ 
trated by Progressive Exercises. By 
Charles H. Lyon. 12mo. 

OUTLINES of IMPERFECT 
and DISORDERED MENTAL 
ACTION. By Thomas C. Upham, 
Professor of Mental and Moral Phil¬ 
osophy in Bowdoin College. 18mo. 

MENTAL PHILOSOPHY; em¬ 
bracing the three Departments of the 
Intellect, Sensibilities, and Will. By 
Thomas C. Upham. 3 vols. 12mo. 

A PHILOSOPHICAL and 
PRACTICAL TREATISE on 
the WILL. By Professor Upham. 

INQUIRIES concerning the 
INTELLECTUAL POWERS, 
and the Investigation of Truth. By 
John Abercrombie, M.D., F.R.S. 
With Questions. 18mo. 

The PHILOSOPHY of the 
MORAL FEELINGS. By John 
Abercrombie, M.D., F.R.S. With 
Questions. 18mo. 

PALEY’S NATURAL THE¬ 
OLOGY. With Illustrative Notes, 
by Henry Lord Brougham, 
F.R.S., and Sir Charles Bell, 
K.G.H., F.R.S., L. & E. Withnu 
merous Woodcuts. To which are 
added Preliminary Observations and 
Notes. By Alonzo Potter, D.D. 
2 vols. 18mo. 

FAMILIAR ILLUSTRATIONS 
of NATURAL PHILOSOPHY, 
selected principally from Daniell’s 


Chemical Philosophy. By James 
Renwick, LL.D. 18mo. With 
numerous Engravings. 

FIRST PRINCIPLES of 
CHEMISTRY familiarly explained. 
By Professor Renwick. 18mo. 
With numerous Illustrative Engra¬ 
vings. 

ILLUSTRATIONS of ME¬ 
CHANICS. By Professors Mose¬ 
ley and Renwick. 18mo. Engra¬ 
vings. 

The SCIENCE of MECHAN¬ 
ICS applied to Practical Purposes. 
By James Renwick, LL.D. 18mo. 
Engravings. 

The ELEMENTS of GEOL¬ 
OGY, for Popular Use; containing 
a Description of the Geological For¬ 
mation and Mineral Resources of the 
United States. By Charles A. 
Lee, A.M., M.D. 18mo. Engra¬ 
vings. 

The PRINCIPLES of PHYSI¬ 
OLOGY applied to the Preservation 
of Health, and to the Improvement 
of Physical and Mental Education. 
By Andrew Combe, M.D. 18mo. 
Engravings. 

ANIMAL MECHANISM and 
PHYSIOLOGY ; being a plain and 
familiar Exposition of the Structure 
and Functions of the Human System. 
Designed for the Use of Families and 
Schools. By John H. Griscom, 
M.D. 18mo. Engravings. 

UNIVERSAL HISTORY, from 
the Creation of the World to the De¬ 
cease of George III., 1820. By the 
Hon. Alexander Fraser Tytler 
and Rev. E. Nares, D.D. Edited 
by an American. 6 vols. 18mo. 


14 












Published by Harper <f* Brothers . 


FOR SCHOOLS, ETC.' 


AMERICAN HISTORY. By 
the Author of “ American Popular 
Lessons.” 3 vols. 18mo. Engra¬ 
vings. 

The HISTORY of GREECE. 
By Dr. Goldsmith. Edited by the 
Author of “ American Popular Les¬ 
sons,” &c. 18mo. 

The HISTORY of ROME. By 
Dr. Goldsmith. Edited by H. W. 
Herbert, Esq. 18mo. 

An ELEMENTARY TREA¬ 
TISE on MECHANICS. Trans¬ 


■NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 


lated from the French of M. Bou- 
charlat. With Additions and Em¬ 
endations, designed to adapt it to the 
Use of the Cadets of the U. S. Mil¬ 
itary Academy. By Edward H. 
Courtenay. 8vo. 

COBB’S SCHOOL BOOKS. 
Including Walker’s Dictionary, Ex¬ 
planatory Arithmetic, Nos. I and 2, 
North American Reader, &c. 

A TABLE of LOGARITHMS, 
of LOGARITHMIC SINES, and 
a TRAVERSE TABLE. 12mo. 


NATURAL P 

A PRELIMINARY DIS¬ 
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NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. By 
John Frederic William Her- 
schel, A.M., &c. 12mo. 

FAMILIAR ILLUSTRATIONS 
of NATURAL PHILOSOPHY, 
selected principally from Daniell’s 
Chemical Philosophy. By James 
Renwick, LL.D. 18mo. With 
numerous Engravings. 

LETTERS on NATURAL 
MAGIC. Addressed to Sir Walter 
Scott. By Sir David Brewster. 
18mo. With Engravings. 

LETTERS of EULER on Dif¬ 
ferent Subjects of Natural Philoso¬ 
phy. Addressed to a German Prin¬ 
cess. Translated by Hunter. 
With Notes, and a Life of Euler, by 
Sir David Brewster ; with addi¬ 
tional Notes, by John Griscom, 
LL.D. With a Glossary of Scien¬ 
tific Terms. 2 vols. I8mo. Engra¬ 
vings. 

On ASTRONOMY and GEN¬ 
ERAL PHYSICS. By the Rev. 
William Whewell. M.A., F.R.S., 
&c. 12mo. 

The EARTH: its Physical Con¬ 
dition and most Remarkable Phe¬ 
nomena. By W. Mullinger Hig¬ 
gins. 18mo. Engravings. 

CELESTIAL SCENERY; or, 
the Wonders of the Planetary Sys¬ 
tem displayed. Illustrating the Per- 


HILOSOPHY. 

fections of Deity and a Plurality of 
Worlds. By Thomas Dick, LL.D. 
18mo. Engravings. 

The SIDEREAL HEAVENS, 
and other Subjects connected with 
Astronomy, as illustrative of the 
Character of the Deity, and of an In¬ 
finity of Worlds. By Thomas Dick, 
LL.D. 18mo. Engravings. 

An ELEMENTARY TREA¬ 
TISE on MECHANICS. Trans¬ 
lated from the French of M. Bou- 
chaklat. With Additions and Em¬ 
endations, designed to adapt it to the 
Use of the Cadets of the U. S. Mil¬ 
itary Academy. By Edward H. 
Courtenay. 8vo. 

ILLUSTRATIONS of ME¬ 
CHANICS. By Professors Mose¬ 
ley and Renwick. 18mo. Engra¬ 
vings. 

The SCIENCE of MECHAN¬ 
ICS applied to Practical Purposes. 
By James Renwick, LL.D. 18mo. 
Engravings. 

CHAPTAL’S CHYMISTRY ap¬ 
plied to AGRICULTURE. A 
New Translation, with valuable Se¬ 
lections from Sir Humphrey Davy 
and others. 

FIRST PRINCIPLES of 
CHEMISTRY familiarly explained. 
By Professor Renwick. 18mo. 
With numerous Illustrative Engra¬ 
vings. 


15 













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NATURAL H1ST0R Y.-P OETRY, AND THE DRAMA. 


NATURAL 

A POPULAR GUIDE to the 
OBSERVATION of NATURE; 
or, Hints of Inducement to the Study 
of Natural Productions and Appear¬ 
ances, in their Connexions and Re¬ 
lations. By Robert Mudie. 18mo. 
Engravings. 

NATURAL HISTORY; or,Un¬ 
cle Philip’s Conversations with the 
Children about Tools and Trades 
among the Inferior Animals. 18mo. 
With Illustrative Engravings. 

The HAND, its Mechanism and 
Vital Endowments, as evincing De¬ 
sign. By Sir Charles Bell, 
K.G.H., F.R.S. L. & E , &c. 12mo. 

The NATURAL HISTORY of 
QUADRUPEDS. 18mo. Numer¬ 
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The ELEPHANT as he exists 
in a Wild State, and as he has been 
made subservient, in Peace and 
in War, to the Purposes of Man. 
18mo. Illustrated by numerous En¬ 
gravings. 

The NATURAL HISTORY of 
BIRDS ; their Architecture, Habits, 
&c. I8mo. With numerous Illus¬ 
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HISTORY. 

The NATURAL HISTORY of 
INSECTS. 2 vols. 18mo. Engra¬ 
vings. 

A MANUAL of CONCHOLO- 
GY, according to the System laid 
down by Lamarck, with the late Im¬ 
provements by De Blainville. Ex¬ 
emplified and arranged for the Use 
of Students. By Thomas Wyatt, 
M.A. Illustrated by 36 Plates, con¬ 
taining more than two hundred 
Types drawn from the Natural 
Shell. 8vo. 

Also an Edition with coloured 
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The AMERICAN FOREST; 
or, Uncle Philip’s Conversations 
with the Children about the Trees 
of America. 18mo. With numerous 
Engravings. 

VEGETABLE SUBSTANCES 
used for the Food of Man. 18mo. 
With numerous Engravings. 

The ELEMENTS of GEOL¬ 
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a Description of the Geological For¬ 
mation and Mineral Resources of the 
United States. By Charles A. 
Lee, A.M., M.D. 18mo. Engra¬ 
vings. 


POETRY, AND 

POEMS, by William Cullen 
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The SIAMESE TWINS. A 
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THE DRAMA. 

VIRGIL. The Eclogues transla¬ 
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den. 2 vols. 18mo. Portrait. 

HORACE. Translated by Philip 
Francis, D.D. With an Appendix, 
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OVID. Translated by Dryden, 
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16 






















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HOMER. Translated by Alex¬ 
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PINDAR. Translated by the 
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ANACREON. Translated by 
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The DOOM of DEVORGOIL, 
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AESCHYLUS. Translated by 
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SOPHOCLES. Translated by 
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With a Portrait. 

EURIPIDES. Translated by the 
Rev. R. Potter, M.A. 3 vols. 18mo. 
Portrait. 

RICHELIEU; or, the Conspira¬ 
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torical Odes. By Sir Lytton Bul¬ 
wer. 12mo. 

The LADY of LYONS : a Play, 
in five Acts. By Sir Lytton Bul¬ 
wer. 12mo. 

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MENTAL PHILOSOPHY; em¬ 
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INFANTRY TACTICS; or, 
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New Edition. By Major-General 
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The PERCY ANECDOTES. 
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ANECDOTES, Literary, Moral, 
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Way. 8vo. 

ALGIC RESEARCHES. Com¬ 
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Indian Tales and Legends. By 
Henry Rowe Schoolcraft. 2 
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INDIAN TRAITS; being 
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GEORGIA SCENES. New 
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tions. 12mo. 

HOW to OBSERVE. —MOR¬ 
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The LETTERS of the BRIT¬ 
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ZION’S SONGSTER. Com¬ 
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48mo. 

The COOK’S ORACLE and 
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MODERN AMERICAN COOK¬ 
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18 










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The FARMER’S INSTRUCT- 
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' By the Hon. Judge Buel. 2 vols. 
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The USEFUL ARTS, popularly 
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ENGLAND and AMERICA, 
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DOMESTIC DUTIES ; or, In¬ 
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SLAVERY in the UNITED 
STATES. By J. K. Paulding, 
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DISCOURSES and ADDRESS¬ 
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LETTERS on DEMONOLOGY 
and WITCHCRAFT. By Sir 
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FESTIVALS, GAMES, and 
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LECTURES on GENERAL 
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By James Montgomery. 18mo. 

A TREATISE on LAN¬ 
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Words bear to Things. By A. B. 
Johnson. 12mo. 

The ORATIONS of DEMOS¬ 
THENES. Translated by Thomas 
Leland, D.D. 2 vols. 18mo. Por¬ 
trait. 

CICERO. The Orations trans¬ 
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The PLEASURES and AD¬ 
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On the IMPROVEMENT of 
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PRACTICAL EDUCATION. 
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The DISTRICT SCHOOL. By 
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UNCLE PHILIP’S CONVER¬ 
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The HOUSEHOLD BOOK. 
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EVENING READINGS in 
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A FAMILIAR TREATISE on 
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UNITED STATES. 18mo. 

SKETCHES of AMERICAN 
ENTERPRISE. 2 vols. 18mo. 

The WONDERS of NATURE 
and ART. 18mo. Numerous En¬ 
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The POOR RICH MAN and 
the RICH POOR MAN. By Miss 
C. M. Sedgwick. 18mo. 

The SWISS FAMILY ROB¬ 
INSON ; or, Adventures of a Father 
and Mother and Four Sons on a 
Desert Island. The Progress of the 
Story forming a clear Illustration of 
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which most immediately apply to 
the Business of Life. 2 vols. 18mo. 
Engravings. 

LIVE and LET LIVE. By 
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a n e o u s. 


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Hofland. 18mo. Engravings. 

The YOUNG CRUSOE ; or, 
the Shipwrecked Boy. Containing 
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his Residence alone upon an Unin¬ 
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18mo. Engravings. 

The CLERGYMAN’S OR¬ 
PHAN, and other Tales. By a 
Clergyman. For the Use of Youth. 
18mo. Engravings. 

The ORNAMENTS DISCOV¬ 
ERED. By Mrs. Hughs. Engra- 
\ ings. 

DIARY of a PHYSICIAN. 
New Edition. 3 vols. 18mo. 

NO FICTION: a Narrative 
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MARTHA: a Memorial of an 
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“No Fiction.” 12mo. 

The MECHANIC. By Rev. C. 
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LETTERS to ADA. By the 
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LETTERS of J. DOWNING, 
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Brigade, to his Old Friend Mr. 
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SCENES in OUR PARISH. 
By a “ Country Parson’s” Daughter. 
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The SIBYL’S LEAVES. By 
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The NOTEBOOK of a 
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FAMILY LIBRARY. 


Abundantly illustrated by Maps, Portraits, and other Engravings on steel, copper, and wood. 


Nos. 1, 2, 3. The History of the 
Jews. By the Rev. H. H. Milman. 

4, 5. The Life of Napoleon Bona¬ 
parte. By J. G. Lockhart, Esq. 

6. The Life of Nelson. By Rob¬ 
ert Southey, LL.D. 

7. The Life and Actions of Alex¬ 
ander the Great. By the Rev. J. 
Williams. 


8. 74. The Natural History of In¬ 
sects. 

9. The Life of Lord Byron. By 
John Galt, Esq. 

10. The Life of Mohammed. By 
the Rev. George Bush. 

11. Letters on Demonology and 
Witchcraft. By Sir Walter Scott, 
Bart. 


20 














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THE F A M I L 


12, 13. History of the Bible. By 
the Rev. G. R. Gleig. 

14. Narrative of Discovery and 
Adventure in the Polar Seas and 
Regions. By Professors Leslie and 
Jameson, and Hugh Murray. 

15. The Life and Times of George 
the Fourth. By the Rev. George 
Croly. 

16. Narrative of Discovery and 
Adventure in Africa. By Professor 
Jameson, and James Wilson and 
Hugh Murray, Esqrs. 

17. 18, 19, 66, 67. Lives of the 
most Eminent Painters and Sculp¬ 
tors. By Allan Cunningham, Esq. 

20. History of Chivalry and the 
Crusades. By G. P. R. James. 

21, 22. The Life of Mary, Queen 
of Scots. By Henry Glassford Bell, 
Esq. 

23. A View of Ancient and Mod¬ 
ern Egypt. By the Rev. M. Rus¬ 
sell, LL.D. 

24. History of Poland. By James 
Fletcher, Esq. 

25. Festivals, Games, and Amuse¬ 
ments. By Horatio Smith, Esq. 

26. Life of Sir Isaac Newton. By 
Sir David Brewster, K.B., &c. 

27. Palestine, or the Holy Land. 
By the Rev. M. Russell, LL.D. 

28. Memoirs of the Empress Jo¬ 
sephine. By John S. Memes, LL.D. 

29. The Court and Camp of Bo¬ 
naparte. 

30. Lives and Voyages of Drake, 
Cavendish, and Dampier. 

31. Description of Pitcairn’s Isl¬ 
and and its Inhabitants; with an Ac¬ 
count of the Mutiny of the Ship 
Bounty, &c. By J. Barrow, Esq. 

32. 72, 84. Sacred History of the 
World, as displayed in the Creation 
and Subsequent Events to the Del¬ 
uge. By Sharon Turner, F.S.A. 

33. 34. Memoirs of Celebrated Fe- 
male Sovereigns. By Mrs. Jameson. 

35, 36. Journal of an Expedition 
to explore the Course and Termina¬ 
tion of the N iger. By Richard and 
John Lander. 

37. Inquiries concerning the Intel¬ 
lectual Powers, and the Investigation 
of Truth. By John Abercrombie. 

38, 39, 40. Lives of Celebrated 
Travellers. By James Augustus St. 
John. 

41,42. Life of Frederic the Sec¬ 
ond, King of Prussia. By Lord 
Dover. 


Y LIBRARY. 


43, 44. Sketches from Venetian 
History. By the Rev. E. Smedley, 
M.A. 

45, 46. Indian Biography; or, an 
Historical Account of those Individ¬ 
uals who have been distinguished 
among the North American Natives 
as Orators, Warriors, Statesmen, and 
other Remarkable Characters. By 

B. B. Thatcher, Esq. 

47, 48, 49. Historical and Descrip¬ 
tive Account of British India. By 
Hugh Murray, Esq., James Wilson, 
Esq., R. K. Greville, LL.D., White- 
law Ainslie, M.D., William Rhind, 
Esq., Professor Jameson, Professor 
Wallace, and Captain Clarence Dal- 
rimple. 

50. Letters on Natural Magic. 
By Dr. Brewster. 

51,52. History of Ireland. By W. 

C. Taylor, Esq. 

53. Historical View of the Prog¬ 
ress of Discovery on the Northern 
Coasts of North America. By P. 

F. Tytler, Esq. 

54. The Travels and Researches 
of Alexander Von Humboldt. By 
W. Macgillivray, A.M. 

55. 56. Letters of Euler on Differ¬ 
ent Subjects of Natural Philosophy. 
Translated by Hunter. With Notes, 
&c., by Sir David Brewster and John 
Griscom, LL.D. 

57. A Popular Guide to the Ob¬ 
servation of Nature. By Robert 
Mudie. 

58. The Philosophy of the Moral 
Feelings. By John Abercrombie. 

59. On the Improvement of Soci¬ 
ety by the Diffusion of Knowledge. 
By Thomas Dick, LL.D. 

60. History of Charlemagne. By 

G. P. R. James, Esq. 

61. Nubia and Abyssinia. By the 
Rev. M. Russell, LL.D. 

62. 63. The Life of Oliver Crom¬ 
well. By the Rev. M. Russell. 

64. Lectures on General Litera¬ 
ture, Poetry, &c. By James Mont¬ 
gomery. 

65. Memoir of the Life of Peter 
the Great. By John Barrow, Esq. 

66. 67. The Lives of the most 
Eminent Painters and Sculptors. 
By Allan Cunningham. 2d Series. 

68, 69. The History of Arabia. 
By Andrew Crichton. 

70. Historical and Descriptive Ac¬ 
count of Persia. By James B. Fra¬ 
ser, Esq. 


21 













Valuable Standard Works 


CLASSICAL LIBRARY. 

71. The Principles of Physiology 
applied to the Preservation of Health, 
and to the Improvement of Physical 
and Mental Education. By Andrew 
Combe, M.D. 

72. Sacred History of the World. 
By Sharon Turner, F.S.A. 2d vol. 

73. History and Present Condition 
of the Barbary States. By the Rev. 
M. Russell, LL.D. 

74. The Natural History of In- 

cppfc Vnl 9 

75,76. A Life of Washington. By 
J. K. Paulding, Esq. 

77. The Philosophy of Living. By 
Caleb Ticknor, A.M. 

78. The Earth : its Physical Con¬ 
dition and most Remarkable Phe¬ 
nomena. By W. M. Higgins. 

79. A Compendious History of 
Italy. Translated by Nath. Greene. 

80. 81. The Chinese. By John 
Francis Davis, F.R.S. 

82. An Historical Account of the 
Circumnavigation of the Globe, &c. 

83. Celestial Scenery; or, the 

Wonders of the Planetary System 
displayed. By Thomas Dick, LL.D. 

84. Sacred History of the World. 
By Sharon Turner, F.S.A. Vol. 3. 

85. Animal Mechanism and Phys¬ 
iology. By John H. Griscom, M.D. 

86. 87, 88, 89, 90, 91. Universal 
History. By the Hon. Alexander 
Fraser Tytler and Rev. E. Nares. 

92, 93. The Life and Works of 
Dr. Franklin. 

94,95. The Pursuit of Knowledge 
under Difficulties; its Pleasures and 
Rewards. 

96, 97. Paley’s Natural Theology. 
With Notes, &c., by Henry Lord 
Brougham, Sir Charles Bell, and A. 
Potter, D.D. 

98. Natural History of Birds; their 
Architecture, Habits, &c. 

99. The Sidereal Heavens, and 
other Subjects connected with As¬ 
tronomy. By'1 homas Dick, LL.D. 

100. Outlines of Imperfect and Dis¬ 
ordered Mental Action. By Profes¬ 
sor Upham. 

CL ASSICAI 

With Fortr 

I, 2. Xenophon. (Anabasis, trans¬ 
lated by Edward Spelman, Esq., 
Cyropaedia, by the Hon. M. A. Coop¬ 
er.) 

3, 4. The Orations of Demosthe¬ 
nes. Translated by Thomas Leland, 
D.D. 

5. Sallust. Translated by Wil¬ 
liam Rose, M.A. 

6, 7. Cassar. Translated by Wil¬ 
liam Duncan. 

8, 9, 10. Cicero. The Orations 
translated by Duncan, the Offices by 
Cock man, and the Cato and Laelius 
by Melmoth. 

II, 12. Virgil. The Eclogues 
translated by Wrangham, the Geor¬ 
gies by Sotheby, and the ^Eneid by 
Dryden. 

13. ASschylus. Translated by the 
! Rev. R. Potter, M.A. 

14. Sophocles. Translated by 
Thomas Francklin, D.D. 

15,16,17. Euripides. Translated 
> by the Rev. R. Potter, M.A. 

18, 19. Horace. Translated by 

l— 

, LIBRARY. 

aits on steeL 

Philip Francis, D.D. With an Ap¬ 
pendix, containing Translations of 
various Odes, &c., by Ben Jonson, 
Cowley, Milton, Dryden, &c. And 

Phaedrus. With the Appendix of 
Gudius. Translated by Christopher 
Smart, A.M. 

20, 21. Ovid. Translated by Dry¬ 
den, Pope, Congreve, Addison, and 
others. 

22, 23. Thucydides. Translated 
by William Smith, A.M. 

24, 25, 26, 27, 28. Livy. Transla¬ 
ted by George Baker, A.M. 

29, 30, 31. Herodotus. Translated 
by the Rev. William Beloe. 

32, 33, 34. Homer. Translated 
by Alexander Pope, Esq. 

35. Juvenal. Translated by 

Charles Badham, M.D., F.R.S. And 

Persius. Translated by the Rt. 
Hon. Sir W. Drummond. 

36. Pindar. Translated by the 
Rev. C. A. Wheelwright. And 

Anacreon. Translated by Thom- j 
as Bourne, Esq. 


22 

















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SCHOOL DISTRICT LIBRARY. 


BOYS’ AND GIRLS’ LIBRARY. 

Illustrated bv numerous Engrav ings. 


No 1. Lives of the Apostles and 
Early Martyrs of the Church. 

2, 3. The Swiss Family Robin¬ 
son ; or, Adventures of a Father and 
Mother and Four Sons on a Desert 
Island. 

4, 13, 18. Sunday Evenings. By 
the Author of “the Infant Christian’s 
First Catechism.” 

5. The Son of a Genius. By Mrs. 
Hofland. 

6. Natural History. By Uncle 
Philip. 

7, 8. Indian Traits. By B. B. 
Thatcher, Esq. 

9, 10, 11. Tales from American 
History. By the Author of “ Ameri¬ 
can Popular Lessons.” 

12. The Young Crusoe; or, the 
Shipwrecked Boy. By Mrs. Hof¬ 
land. 

14. Perils of the Sea; being Au¬ 
thentic Narratives of Remarkable 
and Affecting Disasters upon the 
Deep. 

15. Sketches of the Lives of Dis¬ 


tinguished Females. By an Ameri¬ 
can Lady. 

16. Caroline Westerley; or, the 
Young Traveller from Ohio. By 
Mrs. Phelps (formerly Mrs Lincoln). 

17. The Clergyman’s Orphan, and 
other Tales. By a Clergyman. 

19. The Ornaments Discovered. 
By Mrs. Hughs. 

20. Evidences of Christianity. By 
Uncle Philip. 

21. History of Virginia. By Un¬ 
cle Philip. 

22. The American Forest. By 
Uncle Philip. 

23,24. History of New-York. By 
Uncle Philip. 

25. Tales of the American Revo¬ 
lution. By B. B. Thatcher. 

26,27. The Whale-fishery and the 
Polar Seas. By Uncle Philip. 

28, 29. History of Massachusetts. 
By Uncle Philip. 

30,31. History of New-Hampshire. 
By Uncle Philip. 


SCHOOL DISTRICT LIBRARY. 

Illustrated by numerous Engravings. 

FIRST SERIES. 


Nos. 1, 2. A Life of Washington. 
By J. K. Paulding, Esq. 

3. The Poor Rich Man and the 
Rich Poor Man. By Miss C. M. 
Sedgwick. 

4, 5. The Swiss Family Robin¬ 
son ; or, Adventures of a Father and 
Mother and Four Sons on a Desert 
Island. 

6, 7. The Natural History of In¬ 
sects. 

8. The Son of a Genius. By Mrs. 
Hofland. 

9, 10, 11. American History. By 
the Author of “ American Popular 
Lessons.” 

12. American Revolution. By B. 
B. Thatcher, Esq. 

13, 14. The Life of Napoleon Bo¬ 
naparte. By J. G. Lockhart, Esq. 

15. The Principles of Physiology 
applied to the Preservation of Health, 
and to the Improvement of Physical 


and Mental Education. By Andrew 
Combe, M.D. 

16, 17. Indian Traits. By B. B. 
Thatcher, Esq. 

18. Narrative of Discovery and 
Adventure in Africa. By Professor 
Jameson, arid James Wilson and 
Hugh Murray, Esqrs. 

19. The American Forest. By 
Uncle Philip. 

20. A Popular Guide to the Obser¬ 
vation of Nature. By Robert Mudie. 

21. Perils of the Sea; being Au¬ 
thentic Narratives of Remarkable 
and Affecting Disasters upon the 
Deep. 

22. Inquiries concerning the Intel¬ 
lectual Powers and the Investigation 
of Truth. By John Abercrombie, 
M.D., F.R.S. 

23. Lectures on General Litera¬ 
ture, Poetry, &c. By James Mont¬ 
gomery. 


S3 











Valuable Standard Works 


SCHOOL, D1STR 


24. Celestial Scenery; or, the 
Wonders of the Planetary System 
displayed. By Thomas Dick, LL.D. 

25. Palestine; or, the Holy Land. 
By Rev M. Russell, LL.D. 

26. History of Chivalry and the 
Crusades. By G. P. R. James, Esq. 

27. The Life of Sir Isaac Newton. 
By David Brewster, LL.D. 

28. Live and Let Live. By Miss 
C. M. Sedgwick. 

29. 30. The Chinese. By John 
Francis Davis, F.R.S. 

31. An Historical Account of the 
Circumnavigation of the Globe. 

32. The Life and Actions of Alex¬ 
ander the Great. By Rev. J. Wil¬ 
liams. 

33. 34. Letters of Euler on Differ¬ 
ent Subjects of Natural Philosophy. 
With Notes and a Life of Euler, by 
Sir David Brewster; with additional 
Notes, by John Griscom, LL.D. 

35. Memoir of the Life of Peter 
the Great. By John Barrow, Esq. 


SECOND 

Nos. 51, 52. Life and Works of 
Dr. Franklin. 

53, 54. The Farmer’s Instructer; 
consisting of Essays, Practical Di¬ 
rections and Hints for the Manage¬ 
ment of the Farm, Garden, &c. By 
the Hon. Judge Buel. 

55,56. The Pursuit of Knowledge 
under Difficulties; its Pleasures and 
Rewards. Illustrated by Memoirs 
of Eminent Men. 

57. Animal Mechanism and Physi¬ 
ology. By J. H. Griscom, M.D. 

58. The Elephant as he exists in 
a Wild State and as he has been 
made subservient, in Peace and in 
War, to the Purposes of Man. 

59. Vegetable Substances used 
for the Food of Man. 

60. 61, 62, 63, 64, 65. Universal 
History. By the Hon. Alexander 
Fraser Tytler and Rev. E. Nares. 

66. Illustrations of Mechanics. By 
Professors Moseley and Ren wick. 

67. Narrative of Discovery and 
Adventure in the Polar Seas and 
Regions. By Professors Leslie and 
Jameson, and Hugh Murray, Esq. 

68. 69. Paley’s Natural Theology. 
With Notes, &c., by Henry Lord 
Brougham, Sir Charles Bell, and 
Alonzo Potter, D.D. 


ICT LIBRARY. 


36, 37. The Life of Oliver Crom¬ 
well By Rev. M. Russell, LL.D. 

38. On the Improvement of Society 
by the Diffusion of Knowledge. By 
Thomas Dick, LL.D. 

39. The Earth : its Physical Con¬ 
dition and most Remarkable Phe¬ 
nomena. By W. M. Higgins. 

40. The Philosophy of the Moral 
Feelings. By John Abercrombie. 

41. 42. Memoirs of Celebrated Fe¬ 
male Sovereigns. By Mrs. Jameson. 

43. History of Virginia. By Un¬ 
cle Philip. 

44. The Ornaments Discovered. 
By Mary Hughs. 

45. Natural History; or, Tools 
and Trades among Inferior Animals. 
By Uncle Philip. 

46. 47. The Whale-fishery and the 
Polar Seas. By Uncle Philip. 

48. Lives and Voyages of Early 
Navigators. 

49,50. History of New-York. By 
William Dunlap. 


SERIES. 

70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75,76, 77 78, 79. 
American Biography. Edited by 
Jared Sparks, Esq. 

80. The Travels and Researches 
of Alexander Von Humboldt. By 
W. Macgillivray, A.M. 

81. The History of Greece. By 
Dr. Goldsmith. Prepared by the 
Author of “ American Popular Les¬ 
sons,” &c. 

82. Natural History of Birds. 

83. Familiar Illustrations of Nat¬ 
ural Philosophy. By Prof. Renwick. ; 

84. 85. Selections from the Spec- j 
tator. 

86. The Elements of Geology. By 
Charles A. Lee, A.M., M.D. 

87. The History of Rome. By 
Dr. Goldsmith. Edited by H. W. 
Herbert, Esq. 

88. A Treatise on Agriculture. By 
Gen. John Armstrong. WithNotes, 
by the Hon. Judge Buel. 

89. Natural History of Quadrupeds. 

90. Chaptal’s Chymistry applied 
to Agriculture. 

91. Lives of the Signers of the 
Declaration of Independence. By 
N. Dwight, Esq. 

92. 93, 94, 95. Plutarch’s Lives. 
Translated by John Langhorne, D.D.* 
and William Langhorne, M.A. 


24 










Published by Harper Brothers. 


SCHOOL DISTRICT LIBRARY. 


THIRD SERIES. 


I 

| 

i 

( 

I 

j 

i 


The Third Series of the Schoot District Library is now in preparation. Among many other valuable 
works under contract and consideration are the following : 


A History of the United States. 
By the Hon. S. Hale. 2 vols. 

History of British America. By 
Hugh Murray, F.R.S.E. 

History of Scotland. By Sir Wal¬ 
ter Scott, Bart. 2 vols. 

History of France. By E. E. 
Crowe, Esq. 3 vols. 

The History of England. By T. 
Keightley. 4 vols. 

The Science of Mechanics applied 
to Practical Purposes. By James 
Renwick, LL.D. 

History of the Expedition to Russia 
undertaken by the Emperor Napo¬ 
leon. By Gen. Count Philip de Se- 
gur. 2 vols. 

History of the Fine Arts. By B. 
J. Lossing, Esq. 

Selections from the Works of Dr. 
Johnson. 2 vols. 

Selections from the Works of Dr. 
Goldsmith. 

Selections from the American Po¬ 
ets^ By W. C. Bryant, Esq. 

Selections from Foreign Poets. 
By Fitz-Greene Halleck. 2 vols. 

The Pleasures and Advantages of 
Science. By A. Potter, D.D. 

Exemplary and Instructive Biog¬ 
raphy. A new Selection. 3 vols. 

The Household Book. By the 
Rev. Dr. Potter. 

Tales from History. By Agnes 
Strickland. 2 vols. 

First Principles of Chemistry fa¬ 
miliarly explained. By Professor 
Renwick. 

The Life and Correspondence of 
Dewitt Clinton. By Professor Ren¬ 
wick. 

The Life and Correspondence of 
General Alexander Hamilton. By 
Professor Renwick. 


The Life and Correspondence of 
Governor John Jay. By Professor 
Renwick. 

The Life and Travels of Mungo 
Park. 

Parry’s Voyages and Journey to¬ 
wards the North Pole. 2 vols. 

Life of Patrick Henry. By Wil¬ 
liam Wirt. 

Political Economy. Its objects 
stated and explained, and its Princi¬ 
ples familiarly and practically illus¬ 
trated. 

Evening Readings in Nature and 
Man. Selected and arranged by 
Alonzo Potter, D.D. 

Outlines of Imperfect and Disor¬ 
dered Mental Action. By Professor 
Upham. 

The Starry Heavens and other 
Objects connected with Astronomy. 
By Thomas Dick, LL.D. 

A familiar Treatise on the Consti¬ 
tution of the United States. 

Biographies of Distinguished Fe¬ 
males. 2 vols. 

Sketches of American Enterprise. 
2 vols. 

Selections from the Writings of 
Washington. 2 vols. 

The Useful Arts, popularly treated. 

The Wonders of Nature and Art. 

History of Massachusetts. By 
Uncle Philip. 2 vols. 

History of New-Hampshire. By 
Uncle Philip. 2 vols. 

History of Connecticut. By The¬ 
odore Dwight, Esq. 

A Valuable and Useful Work for 
Farmers and Gardeners. By the 
Editors of “ The Cultivator.” 

A Life of Commodore Perry. By 
Lieut. A. Slidell Mackenzie. 

6 8 6 h 


DIP The first and second series of the School District Library have been 
pronounced highly judicious, and have been recommended by the public I 
press, the governor of the state, the superintendent of public schools, and 
other distinguished gentlemen, as the best selection of books that has ever 
appeared, and, on account of its cheapness and great value, “ admirably 
adapted to the purpose for which it is designed.” 

The publishers are preparing a fourth series, to consist of books selected 
by competent persons, and approved by the Superintendent of Com¬ 
mon Schools. 

The volumes embraced in the School, as well as in the Family, Classical, 
and Boys’ and Girls’ Libraries, are sold either separately or in complete sets. 


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